


Broken Ties

by BlueEleanor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 61
Words: 334,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEleanor/pseuds/BlueEleanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twins embittered by tragedy and loss find themselves inexplicably in a new land. When Aleks finds shelter with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield and Daphne with the Elvenking, will their feud ignite tensions between elf and dwarf? And when the Ring goes missing, can the time-line be preserved? (An "off-roading" story - starts following movie/book verse but veers off mid-way into uncharted territory. A urban fantasy meets The Hobbit)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

### Prologue

With gentle swipes of the washcloth, white clown makeup was smeared from my face, revealing in streaks the peach skin that had been concealed underneath. My green eyes caught upon themselves in the mirror, and I snickered under my breath. What a picture I made, half clown and half woman. 

Oh, but this had been fun. The kids who’d attended the outreach program for the Caliente Public Library had laughed themselves silly, giggling from activity to activity like hyper little hyena pups. This was what I lived for: children. Bringing them happiness. 

The clown-thing had been a new twist, but I’d adored every minute of it. Most of the little cherubs (cough, cough) had recognized me despite the silly makeup, curly green-haired wig, and patchwork dress – no feat since I was the shortest adult they knew at four foot nothing. Still, they’d been so proud of themselves at figuring it out that I’d feigned shock at each disclosure, hands rushing to cheeks and mouth forming an “O”.

This was the life I wanted. 

_So why do you go back?_ I asked my reflection. Why, after each of these blessed afternoons with the kids here, did I prod my steps to carry me back to a loveless home filled with hostile silences that eviscerated every ounce of joie de verve in me?

The soda pop-like happiness that had infused me for the last few hours began to go flat as it always did when my thoughts turned in that direction. I snatched the sweaty wig from my head and tossed it into the duffle at my feet. My own hair fell free, a medium brown with a smattering of ginger highlights that hung in ragged hunks below my chin. 

_Why do you go back?_

The next swoop of the washcloth was rougher, hastier. I asked myself this question all the time. Answer? I had no choice. Not really. Home was a misery, but the alternative was worse.

Times were dangerous. At nineteen, most women my age were either leaving the nest or at bare minimum heading to college. I could do neither. A dryad, or female naiad, was too vulnerable. Not being able to touch metal without suffering from serious burns would have made the world hazardous enough, but the political climate around us was the clincher. My foster father, Marcus, might not be the greatest guy in the world – _Understatement, Daphne,_ I snorted to myself – but as a werewolf, there wasn’t much of a safer place to be found than under his roof. 

Well, safer physically. 

And safety for any of the lesser fae - be they centaur, naiad, gnome, or any of the other thousands of flavors of us - was hard to come by. Some humans sympathized and argued for equal protections under the law, but the numbers of the militant adherents of Humans First were growing. Those of us who could pass as human did so. Those who couldn’t tread very, very softly. 

It was a risk for me to even volunteer as I did. How many four-foot-tall human women were there? Oh, there were some, but like me, they probably came under suspicious scrutiny. 

I finished scrubbing my face and rinsed the washcloth until the water ran clear. _Great subject change, Daphne._ I scrunched my nose. 

I think if we had a viable choice, we’d leave Earth Realm altogether. But where would we go? Back to Faerie? _Snort._ Not bloody likely. All lesser fae, including me, had an ingrained fear of the place, one that persisted centuries after our forefathers had fled the nightmarish land. None of us would so much as venture near the rifts scattered across Earth Realm that led back there. Well, none with a shred of sanity. 

My cell phone chirruped at me and every inch of my spine went ramrod rigid. My face closed down until Alcatraz looked warmer. An automatic, instinctive response – the Aleks Effect in action. 

I lifted the phone from the tote with trepidation and found a text in bold letters: YOU HAVE SIXTY SECONDS BEFORE I LEAVE WITHOUT YOU. 

_What-?_ I pressed a hand to my belly, instantly ill. Marcus had passed the buck again, roping my twin into picking me up. My chest tightened. _How could you, Marcus?_ Easy. Marcus had never wanted to be a father, foster or otherwise. He kept us fed. He kept us clothed and physically protected. But for anything else, we were on our own. 

I burst into motion. If Aleks said sixty seconds, he literally meant it. If I knew my brother, he was counting down the ticks of the second hand of our appa’s, or father’s, pocket watch, gleefully waiting for the exact tock that in his mind permitted him to leave with a clear conscience, stranding me here.

I bolted from the library at a dead run, face devoid of expression. There he sat, the car idling on the curb before the library’s front steps. Cold, hate-filled green eyes – an exact match of my own - found me through the open passenger window. At least he didn’t grow antlers anymore. Get a male naiad, a satyr, angry enough and he’d go from a normal-looking guy to an antlered, cloven-hoofed bundle of snorting doom in a matter of seconds. Short or not, satyrs were pretty scary when riled.

“Get. In,” he said with zero fanfare, human guise unruffled. Long, lean fingers tapped an impatient pattern upon the steering wheel. 

Face frozen in this rigid, blank mask, I tugged on my protective cotton gloves and reached for the door handle. I hated it, hated the way I shut down like Fort Knox, but I accepted the necessity. Self preservation in action.

Every spark of joy and happiness I’d eked from the previous hours with the children vanished, snuffed out like a campfire buried in a landslide. It was like Aleks was a dead zone. I turned off anytime he drew near. What scared me was that lately, I couldn’t seem to turn back on after he left unless there was a child nearby. I was becoming a part-time zombie.

Resentment flared. Marcus should have warned me that he’d sent Aleks in his place. Our foster father knew the deal. He wasn’t blind. _Probably thinks throwing us together will fix things._ I wish it would, but an extraterrestrial invasion seemed more likely. 

I slunk into the passenger seat. Aleks always made me feel small and unwanted. I’d long since accepted the truth: my twin brother hated my guts, and nothing in the world would budge him from that stance. I knew. I’d tried. For years. 

My eyes shied from him, seeking refuge in any distraction. I stared blindly out the open window. Would it ever hurt less? Nine years - nine _years_ \- since he’d spoken a kind word to me. We’d been ten, it’d been our birthday, and he’d promised me he’d be the best brother ever. Quite the promise. It had lasted all of two days.

Bitterness choked me, as intense as when the wound had been fresh. I hated what was between us. I missed the Aleks who’d been my best friend. 

Yet, the guilt was mine. I’d thrown it all away in ignorance, earning his hatred as well as my own. Life didn’t allow for do-overs. Nothing would fix it, certainly not time. Our parents were dead, and it was my fault. 

Aleks’s silence felt like an oppressive anvil around my neck. I prayed the drive home would pass quickly, because his proximity was tortuous. _Green lights. Please, please let us hit all green lights._

That this hostile silence was an improvement in our relationship was too pathetic for words. Back at the beginning, silence wasn’t an option for Aleks. He’d followed me around, spewing the most vile insults and then jeering when I’d burst into tears – which I’d done at the drop of a hat. I mentally sneered at my former self. I’d kept coming back for more, too, unable to comprehend that my brother wouldn’t change his mind and love me like he used to. 

_Chump._

Even now, years later, the pain hadn’t lessened. The idea of time mending all wounds had never quite panned out for me, but at least my grief was locked away where Aleks would never find it. I would never let him see me cry again. That had been my promise to myself since the day he’d informed me he’d prefer it if I would just die. We’d been twelve. He’d meant it.

I’d kept my promise and learned to betray no weakness…mostly. Not to my twin. He’d only twist the dagger harder if he’d any inkling just how deeply his words still cut. 

OoOoOoOoOo

Aleks fumed as he navigated down Caliente’s streets towards home. Picking up the chit was not his job, and he resented having his arm twisted to do it. What part of hating her did Marcus not get? 

The anger burned hotter. It was her fault. All of it. She’d ruined their lives, and he’d never forgive her for it. 

_Traitor._

His cell rang, and he slipped the device from his pocket, eyeballing the screen to see who it was. _Marcus._ He sneered at the thing before stowing it away. He’d had enough of Mister In-Charge Werewolf for one day. As soon as he dumped her off at the house, he was going to head out. Maybe spend the night in the desert with the animals. Anything to get away from them all. 

_Two more months,_ he reminded himself. His minimum wage job wasn’t spectacular, but it served its purpose, padding his savings account so that he could leave Caliente and never look back.

A second later, her cell rang. Her expression remained as warm as an ice floe as she answered it. “Hello?” 

Aleks snorted in disgust. Even her voice had no life. It grated on his nerves like the roughest sandpaper. How he hated her.

She bolted upright in her seat, her hand tight about her phone. “Say that again?” she asked. 

Aleks let a bit of the satyr loose, not enough to alter his human-like appearance but enough to magnify his senses. He bit out a silent curse when that failed to bring the caller’s voice to clarity. 

“M-marcus, is this a joke?” she stuttered, her face still freakishly devoid of life.

 _Unnatural,_ he thought again. 

She stared straight ahead, unmoving. Aleks could hear Marcus’s deep baritone rumbling as she listened. 

“I understand. I’ll tell him.” With that, she hung up the phone. Her gaze skirted his way but flinched aside, a fact that pleased him inordinately. She’d better be wary of him. “That was Marcus.”

“No, really?” he said with sarcasm. 

No reaction. He might as well mock a statue. It infuriated him. He wanted her to hurt. She deserved to hurt.

“An Old One showed up on the White House lawn today.”

 _Hold up._ What? His ire vanished in light of the shocking news. “You’re freaking kidding me.”

“Secret Service agents surrounded him, but he called in some…hostages. He announced that they were Humans First and had killed a great, great something grandchild of his.” Her gaze this time did meet his. “He executed each perpetrator as well as their family members, from children to fourth cousins. All of them. Right there on the lawn.”

Holy crap. Aleks’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Old Ones. Here. To his knowledge, an Old One had never left Faerie. The rest of them had counted upon that continuing. The lesser fae had fled their lands to get away from the capricious creatures. 

“President Vaughn declared it an act of war,” she said in that same matter-of-fact voice. Aleks temper reached new heights at further proof of her inhumanity. “The National Guard has been called to active duty. Door to door searches and DNA scanning of every citizen is to be instituted.”

The breath wheezed from his lungs. He knew what came next. The internet was full of warnings of the empty FEMA camps just waiting for fae prisoners. They’d be collared just like convicted fae criminals already were. His foot pressed down further on the accelerator. How much time did they have? Where could they go? Drones and infrared cameras meant that even the national forests would offer no sanctuary. No way would he set hoof in Faerie.

A thought. All he had to do was stop the car and shove her out. That was all it would take. She’d never reach safety in time. For a moment, the vision of the chit with a big, fat black collar around her neck filtered through his mind.

He felt a twinge of remorse for even entertaining such a notion, but a part of him insisted he’d get over it to be free of her. He didn’t want to look at her anymore. Each glimpse was a reminder of just what had been ripped from him and of how cold his life had been ever since. She looked exactly like their mother. Remove the reminder, and he’d feel like a million bucks. He was sure of it. 

A pang. _What have I become?_ Bleak sorrow mixed with his anger. He needed away from her before he turned into someone he couldn’t live with. It was like this part of him was driven to dig and dig and dig…and he liked the man staring back at him in the mirror less with each go-round. 

No. He wouldn’t become that person. He refused to. But as soon as he had the chance, he was ditching her. 

 

_**Three hours later  
Elsewhere** _

A tall, ethereal woman glided down the halls of Stormspire Keep, the train of her gown a pool of rich, cobalt ethersilk behind her. She climbed stairs of glossy marble to the spire’s peak, her steady gait never slowing nor hastening. 

At last, she reached the circular room on the top floor and joined the man waiting there, her hands flicking her waist-long, ebony hair from her shoulders before finding a resting spot upon the filigree balcony rail. Her gaze swept across the vista below. 

“I trust you succeeded, Muriste?” the male said with languid warning.

She smiled coldly. “I do not fail.”

The twitch of his lips in return proved all the icier. “Of course not,” he purred. “Report. How many naiad pairs remain in Earth Realm?”

When she failed to respond immediately, he lifted one elegant brow. “How many?” he asked with silky threat. 

“Auverd visited Earth Realm this very day. Were you aware of this?” she countered archly. 

“Of course,” he returned without pause. “What of it?”

The woman tapped one hand upon the railing and turned to face him, her deep blue-green eyes luminescent even in full sunlight. “He executed eleven human family lines before their leader.”

“What of it?” he repeated, uncaring.

“The humans declared war upon Faerie…and the lesser fae.”

That did gain a rise from the male. He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Is that so?”

“You asked what I found, and now I answer: of the naiad lines that left Faerie, all but two are no more.”

His lips compressed. “How many individuals?”

“There were forty-eight, but the humans placed metal devices upon most of the dryads, killing them. Their satyr brothers rampaged and were struck down. Your answer is two. There are now only two naiads of any use left to us. They descend from the maple and laurel bloodlines.”

“Crossbreeds?” he mused as if to himself. 

“You miss the important fact,” she dared to voice. “There are only two naiads left. Naiads native to Faerie have all gone feral. The dryads have chosen a tree’s life and our satyrs roam our lands as white stags.”

“Do not preach to me facts of which I am aware,” he said, his glowing black eyes seeming to burn darker. “Faerie dies a little more each year from the lack of balance that naiads provide. Two is not enough.”

“They are all that is left,” Muriste repeated calmly. 

The male lifted his face to the sky, his dark skin and hair seeming to absorb the sun’s light. “The two naiads must be brought to me.”

“In time,” she returned. 

His head whipped around, and those black eyes assumed a smoky light. “Faerie weakens,” he said in an ominous croon.

“I owed a debt to their paternal line,” Muriste said. “To honor that I will allow them some measure of time before bringing them here.”

The male smirked. “How very sentimental of you,” he mocked.

“I will not court death by risking the wrath of the Wild Hunt. I will not be forsworn,” she said. The woman lifted one thin shoulder in a half shrug. “I created a pocket world for them. Large enough for the male to roam freely and with enough green to satisfy the dryad’s needs. If we should war against these backward humans, they will not be damaged there.”

“Good. For war, we will. The humans have declared it,” the male said with dark pleasure. “We will but honor their wishes.”

OoOoOoOo

Muriste watched as Ovid’s dark form retreated down the stairs, her composure not betraying the slightest crack. Inwardly, fury consumed her. Not one word from her lips had been a lie – Old Ones could not utter a falsehood without bringing the Wild Hunt down upon them. 

No lying. No kin-slaying. Their only laws.

She’d won time for herself. For though she had sent the naiads to a pocket world of her own creation – a cage with every luxury such primitive beings as naiads could hope for – something had interfered and snatched them from her hands before they’d fully transitioned into that pocket of space. Her people would execute her for this should they discover it. Or worse, strip her of her powers and toy with her like they did every lesser being within reach. She refused to be treated like some lowly brownie or harpy.

 _I will find you,_ she promised the naiads with an inward hiss. _And when I do, you will rue the day you dared defy me._ That the naiads had no role in their own abduction mattered not a whit. Her own survival was at stake. _And when I find **you**_ , she promised the unknown being that had interfered with her plans, _you will wish for the blessing of death._


	2. Not in Kansas Anymore, Toto

### Chapter 1

The high-pitched shriek brought me to full consciousness with all the suddenness of a bucket of water to the face. I scrambled backwards before I knew where I was or what was happening, all fours limbs pumping like a terror-stricken crab. Iron nails of pain pounded through my skull, but white fear drove me, gibbering at me to ignore the pain in favor of speed.

Impressions. Cold. Gray. Empty. Ruins in decay. The landscape that met my eyes defied explanation. Movement tickled the corner of my eyes. Freezing in place, my head whirled towards the source, locking upon a ghastly stone statue. Did something move? _A trick of the light,_ a part of me consoled. 

My pounding heart didn’t buy it.

My breath hitched as the shadow in the folds of the statue’s robes…moved. I bit down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. _Don’t scream. Don’t scream._ My gut tolled like this resounding bell of doom, warning that attracting attention now would be really, really bad.

Instincts honed from a decade with werewolves kicked in. My gaze flew downward. _Don’t let the whites of the eyes show. Don’t run. Slow and easy._ I scooted back an inch at a time. No abrupt movements, nothing to draw the attention of a predator. Each move sent agonizing spears of pain through my head, but the terror gonging through me outweighed any consideration of it. 

An alcove. The instant I saw it, I fixated upon it. 

From the corner of my eye, the shadow seemed to rustle before it melted away. _Where…?_ I stared at the spot it’d vanished, frozen. Minutes ticked by without it reappearing. 

Had I imagined it? 

Doubts percolated. Confusion roiled through me (what the snot was happening?), yet fear refused to loosen its grip on my throat. This oppressive, ominous thing covered the area like a smothering blanket. This place was wrong. Horribly, awfully wrong.

I inched closer to the alcove, focus never straying from that statue. Picking up a loose chunk of masonry, I tossed it towards the statue and held my breath. 

No sign of that shadow. _I could have sworn…_ I chewed on my bottom lip. What was going on? 

I went for broke and ran, my poor head killing me with each step. Pebbles and shale spewed across the crumbling path in my wake. I clawed my way inside the depression, nails ripping against rough stone until at last all four-foot-two of me was huddled within its confines. 

_What the h—_ I gutted the thought before it could finish. I’d never before taken heed, but my mother had once warned that in Faerie, words could draw attention. Use the wrong word, and you might just find something powerful and evil homing in upon it…and you. A shiver raced up my spine and stole my breath. 

Could this be Faerie? Possible, my terror told me. _So_ possible. An aura of danger saturated the very stones of this place. 

Forget pride. I stuffed a wad of brown hair into my mouth and gnawed away. 

This was not home. I could think of no place in the entire United States of America that even approached it. How had I gotten here? I had no memory of this place, nothing to explain my presence here. 

I chafed my arms, thinking furiously. Had I somehow managed to catch the eye of an Old One? I almost never assumed dryad form, so I had a difficult time imagining that to be so. Marcus had been borderline paranoid about that. The last time I’d gone dryad had been before my sixteenth birthday. It had been planned with meticulous detail by Marcus to ensure privacy. For one blissful hour, I’d been able to delve into my dryad nature within a private greenhouse. It was one of my most cherished memories, and the only time Marcus had done something so kind. 

_Faerie._ The idea scared me to babbling proportions. I tried to think through it, but the migraine I sported was like the King Kong of all headaches. I massaged my temples, desperate for some relief, and looked out of my hole. 

Around me lay the tumbled ruins of an ancient castle long forgotten in the mists of time, a castle left shrouded with pain and despair. Vast, from what I could see, and lifeless but for that shadow a part of me persisted in believing had been Something. Not a weed dared lift its head from within the dirt-filled cracks of the crumbling roads. Broken walls stretched into the air, their jagged, sharp peaks like misshapen skeletons. Plaster yet lingered in clumps, most of which were riddled with spidery cracks. 

One thing was for sure. This wasn’t Europe. No medieval castle had ever seen such ornamentation - stone vines and chiseled boughs twisted around columns, their branches splintered and snapped at about ceiling level. Maybe in its heyday, they’d looked organic and beautiful, but now, time had stripped the limbs of their small leaves and left the spindly, blackened husks behind. 

The cloaked statue that had harbored whatever-it-was proved not to be the only one of its ilk. The brooding, ominous stone mannequins were in evidence on more than one disintegrating terrace. Their pock-marked, blank visages faced forward, their empty eyes somehow not as hollow and lifeless as they should be. Eerie. The more I saw, the more I realized just how far the ruins extended. No mere castle, this, but a vast fortress. On and on it went, a graveyard of old structures that had once been a mighty complex. To the center - or what I assumed to be central as it was the highest vantage point - stood the gnarled finger of a tower, its topmost reaches shattered.

Looking in each direction, I could see no end. _Mercy,_ I breathed, hoping that was safe enough to utter to myself. Rubbing at my throbbing temples, almost in tears from the pain, my eyes returned to the cloaked statue and spotted something I’d overlooked before: an incongruous splash of bright blue and green. The cheerful colors were truly jarring against the drained, gray backdrop of the world around me. 

My canvas tote bag. 

Disbelief rooted me, but as if it was the impetus needed, images began to fill in the empty gaps in my memory. Marcus racing through the house, thrusting the bag into my arms. Words edged in panic. Aleks’s tanned face bleached white, his slightly almond leaf-green eyes hard and determined. Strands of his coppery brown hair had escaped his ponytail, hanging into his face. 

That same face twisted in pain? My heart rate accelerated. _Aleks._

A flash of Nancy beside me in the SUV, Marcus behind the wheel. Streets blurring by as Marcus broke speed limits and ignored stop signs. I remembered the way fear had filled the vehicle like a perfume. We’d all reeked of it. 

Then a woman. Eyes like oceans. 

_She sent us here._ How or why, I couldn’t recall. _Sent **us** here._ My heart spasmed. Aleks was supposed to be with me. How I knew, I couldn’t say, but he should be here. A new horror eeled its way around my torso and constricted like a boa. _Don’t let him be dead._ Could something have gotten him before I’d roused?

My eyes flew from shadow to shadow, seeking for any indication of my brother’s presence, but sunlight didn’t penetrate this place and the dark recesses proved too many and too deep. It was as if the gloom that haunted these ruins repelled any sunlight daring to approach these walls. 

Aleks’s name died on my lips. Calling for him felt utterly, foolishly dangerous. The hair on the back of my neck lifted. Something prowled these streets. Outwardly, the ruins appeared empty, the very air ringing hollowly. Nothing told me that hungry, malevolent eyes swept by, but the sensation persisted, prickling along my skin like little insect legs. 

I scrunched further into my cubbyhole. Aleks couldn’t be dead. Even considering it… How to describe what welled up within me? My twin, yet also the source of years of poisonous hatred. Grief hit me. Of course it did. Denial, a refusal to believe he could be gone.  
Relief. Shame swamped me. Aleks had a just reason for despising me. That was a fact. How could I feel relief to believe…? 

Guilt. 

And then, a deeper, colder fear. _Alone._

Poking my head out the tiniest bit further, I scoped out the area, my focus turning again and again to that tote bag. I _did not_ want to leave my hiding place, but I needed that bag. Marcus was the ultimate outdoorsman. You know those rough, ripped guys you could dump in the wilderness with a pocketknife and a tarp and they’d waltz out a week later proclaiming they’d had a ball? That was Marcus. If he’d packed it, that bag would be chock-full of things that could save my life. 

_I bet Aleks’s has a rifle in it._ Not that I could use the weapon if I found it. I didn’t fancy second- or third-degree burns. Metal and dryads did not mix.

The sun rolled its way towards the horizon while I debated the wisdom of leaving my hiding spot. It was stupid. I hadn’t seen anything that led me to believe I was in any peril, yet that terrifying dread refused to budge. The sense of roaming eyes never abated.

_Move. Stop debating. Just move._

Powdery stone fell like a tiny waterfall from the lip of my alcove as I slid a leg free. My heartbeat sounded loud to my ears, a backdrop percussion more successful at freaking me out than Hollywood’s best suspense track. Inch by inch, I eased the rest of the way out, coming to a squat next to the alcove. 

Now for the tricky part - convincing my scared limbs to move _closer_ to that statue. 

By the time I’d reached my tote, slung it over one shoulder, and crept back to my hiding spot, I was shaking worse than if I’d been chucked bare-bum naked into a snowdrift. My teeth chattered and every inch of my skin was pebbled. I’d no idea it was possible to experience this much fear, and trust me, having endured years of nightmares revolving around the deaths of my parents, I’ve been plenty petrified in my day. This was worse. _Much_ worse.

The sun vanished beneath the horizon. I’d barely made it in time. I hugged the tote to me and scrunched into a ball, trying to breathe through the terror. 

The night that followed was the longest of my life. Sleep was impossible. The ghostly complex was bathed in darkness, the sliver of a moon unable to break through the impenetrable black that had descended. The oppressive thing that permeated the air had only intensified as what warmth the sun had provided leeched away. A frigid coldness turned my every exhale into white vapor.  
A part of me whispered that now was the time to try and slip from this maze of ruins unnoticed, if they indeed ended. That if I couldn’t see whatever lurked here, it wouldn’t see me. A load of bunk, probably, but leaving during daylight meant being completely exposed. 

Yet, I felt more endangered now than I had upon clapping eyes upon that shadowy figure, no matter that it had probably been the product of an overactive imagination. 

New sounds filled the night. At first, it was distant and muffled. I dismissed it as the wind. 

I was wrong. 

OoOoOoOo

Pain. Head-splitting, earth-shaking pain.

Aleks clamped a hand to his head and groaned. _Remind me not to touch the Southern Comfort again._ He’d thought he’d learned his lesson after the last time. _Guess not._

Bah. Marcus was going to kill him for hitting the booze again. His lips twisted. _Like I care._ He’d stopped listening to his foster father years ago. 

Man, it must have been a doozy of a night. He couldn’t recall raiding the liquor cabinet, much less the actual drinking. The headache, however, seemed indictment enough.

 _Wait a sec._ He frowned. A fleeting memory sparked. A niggling sensation warned all was not well. Something…something had happened. He probed the edges of his raw brain. 

_Something. That’s helpful,_ he mocked to himself. _Not._

 _Okay, start from the beginning._ He remembered picking her up at the library. _Go from there._ Did he remember getting home? Yes, yes he did. He mentally placed a check-mark on his mental list. He’d slammed the car door and made tracks to his room, the only place he could be completely free of her. Dinner? No… He frowned. _What happened to dinner?_ He wouldn’t have left the house for the night without eating something. 

Marcus. The name made his neurons itch. The knowledge was there, right there, but it refused to be dredged up. _I remember Marcus…_

 _What about Marcus?_ He could have screamed but for his pounding headache.

His eyes cracked open. Piercing sunlight seared his brain, catapulting his pain level through the roof. Every heart beat echoed within his skull, a cacophony that drowned out his low moan. Aleks swallowed a whimper. Bad. He’d never felt anything so bad. Both hands clasped his aching head as if the pressure alone could contain the pulsating throb threatening to crack his head in two. 

His body writhed out of his control, and a weight pressed against his hip, a weight he how realized had been there all along, unrecognized. With slit eyes, he blearily identified the object as his duffle. Memory flashed: Marcus, tossing the bag to him, growling at him to hurry. Remembered fear returned. Danger was coming. Danger… No, the _government._ Door-to-door searches. Mandatory DNA samples. Anyone discovered without pure-human blood would be collared. 

Had they gotten him? His fingers fumbled across the…ground? He was outside? Yeah, he was, he surmised as he cataloged the dampness of his clothes, the honest freshness of the air. Nothing in a bottle matched it.

His fingers gained a better grip on the smooth nylon. He tugged at the bag, careful not to jostle his head yet still wincing as even the smallest movement caused pain. No help for it. He needed what was inside. Steady pressure dragged the bag across the ground and onto his chest. Aleks panted, then tackled the zipper. It glided open with blessed ease. There’d be painkillers inside. Marcus wouldn’t overlook something so basic to Noob’s Survival 101. 

Aleks’s hands dove into the crammed interior, rooting through odds and ends until he felt something rectangular and plastic. Bingo. Shoving the bag aside, he tabbed open the container, forcing his eyes to focus. Band-Aids. Gauze. Hydrogen Peroxide. He finally spotted the series of vials rubber-banded together in one corner. _Her_ work, but for once, he’d take what she’d made and be glad for it. Aspirin, Advil, they couldn’t touch this headache, and hate her as he might, he could acknowledge that a female naiad would produce better medicinals than the richest pharmaceutical laboratory. Where male naiads were linked to the animal world, the women were all about the plants. Two sides of the same gift, and he’d be a fool to turn his nose up on its bounty now. 

He located the correct, white-tipped vial and thumbed off the rubber stopper, shaking out a green and brown pellet into his palm. Gah, it was bitter going down. His entire mouth puckered at the sharp taste. Out came a water bottle. Aleks chugged half of its contents to dull the aftertaste.

Minutes passed like cold honey through a straw. Two. Three. By his reckoning, a good seven minutes had passed before the pain finally yielded. He sagged in relief. Muscles he hadn’t realized had been clenched tight unlocked in tentative stages. Aleks took his first easy breath. 

He waited only until he could move without a resurgence of pain before he collected himself, returning the first-aid kit into the bag and sealing it up. Each movement was gingerly executed as he tested for pain triggers.

Satisfied, he looked around.

He whistled low, his eyes widening as he climbed to his feet using a tree trunk for support. There was no sign of civilization in any direction. Trees surrounded him like silent sentinels, the very air feeling empty in its quietness. Oh, a few birds chirruped away overhead, but the forest felt untouched. No hiking trails, no dirt roads for park personnel, no indication of abandoned camp sites. It was as if he’d stumbled back in time a few hundred years. 

_Right, Hunt,_ he jeered to himself. _‘Cuz that happens in real life._

The air was perfumed with heady botanicals - the green of ripe grass, the occasional hint of gardenia. Eucalyptus? For once, _she_ would have been handy to have along, he admitted, but he dismissed her from his mind. The trees were tall, stately, with the full plumage of spring. A lush, patchy blanket of grass stretched as far as he could see, interspersed with irregular splotches of rich brown dirt. 

He sniffed and mentally interpreted what he detected. Deer had been in the area, probably only hours before. Wolves, too, likely trailing their food source. A quick scan assured him that the energy signature he associated with wolves was no longer present. A relief. He was in no shape to tangle with a pack of wolves.

A small smirk hitched up the right side of his mouth. Marcus had always resented how Aleks was able to locate animals with a single look while the alpha and his werewolves were reduced to snuffling at the ground. Naiads saw energy signatures - satyrs the animal and human signatures, dryads those of plant matter. Marcus called it a cheat, especially when hunting, but Aleks never budged from his own position of, “Whatever, dude.” How improved sight constituted cheating while an enhanced nose didn’t, he had yet to figure out. 

But he had that, too. Something he’d neglected to let Marcus know. Tsk, tsk. How neglectful of him.

Small energy signatures lit up the trees in blues and yellows. Squirrels and birds. Nice to know should he decide to lay some traps. Squirrels were small and gamey, but food was food. _Ah, even better._ A family of rabbits hid under a massive shrub not far off, invisible to the naked eye. _Coney stew._ Not bad. Not bad at all.

In the distance, a canine silhouette outlined in silvery white loped between the trees, drawing his attention. He focused his attention on the animal, and his belly echoed with the mutt’s hunger cramps. Not feral, but approaching desperate. A dog was easy - he could befriend it with a bite of food and the barest use of power. 

Creeping closer, he watched the mutt sneeze when it got a nose-full of a skunk’s hind end. Aleks chuckled into one hand. _Bet that didn’t smell so good, huh buddy?_ The dog - he looked to be a collie mix of some sort - backed away from the odorous animal in question, his entire expression one of, “Oh, foul!” Priceless. Maybe he _would_ befriend the pup. He’d wanted a dog for a long time, but dogs and werewolves did not cohabitate. _Not taking no for an answer this time,_ he abruptly decided. Wherever Marcus might be, he wasn’t here, so he had no say this time. Besides, Aleks was done waiting. If he looked harder, he was sure he could find an apartment within his price range and move out. 

The picture grew in his mind. He and the dog and no…

 _Daphne isn’t here._

He stopped cold. The expected jubilation flared, but it was overcome by dread. For some reason, he was sure she was supposed to be here. And while he would leave her – _And I will,_ he promised himself – she’d never do the same. The chit was determined that they would be best buds again no matter what he did or said. The chit, needless to say, was crazy. Even if the past could be erased, how could anyone buddy up to that plastic face of hers? Aleks couldn’t imagine.

He pursed his lips. _Why is she supposed to be here?_ The gut feeling provided no answers, no matter its unwavering belief. _We were running._ His foster parents had packed them up. They must have fled the house. As he scanned the area, the big question became, what had happened? How had they been separated? 

_Duh._ He could have hit himself upside the head as his brain finally decided to, you know, _work_. He sank down onto his knees and again rifled through his duffle. 

_Dude, where’s the cell phone?_

Dried food. Water bottles. Clothes. Extra shoes. A compact rifle and ammo. A hunting knife. Even his old mp3 player loaded with his favorite tunes and a worn copy of the Stephen King novel, _It. ___

Aleks grew more desperate, upending the bag and turning pockets inside out. “Where did you put the phone, Marcus?” he hissed.

_She took it and ran._

The thought jolted him. Could she have? There was little love lost between them. And while he thought she’d never abandon him, maybe she’d given up, decided to maximize her own chances for survival. 

_Then she would have stolen the bag, you dope._

His fingers found his father’s silver pocket watch, safe in its home in his pants pocket. The smooth silver calmed him, helped him to think. He almost called out for her, but no, if he was free of her, good riddance. No more reminders, no more pain. 

Okay. So no cell phone. He’d have to borrow someone’s. That meant a trip into town. If he could find one. His gaze zoomed upwards. _No telephone lines._ That couldn’t be right. Maybe if he climbed a tree? 

Or maybe not. He was on his feet, but that didn’t mean he was steady. Climbing would have to wait should it become necessary. For now, a quick circuit through the area would work. 

First, though, the collie awaited. Some chicken jerky should help him win the creature over. Arming himself with knife and rifle as a precaution, he whistled low to draw the mutt’s attention as he made his way closer.

Everything felt doable. Positive. He was in his element. Surviving on his own? Piece of cake. 

Then he heard people. Wariness flared as his head whipped around to find the source. Abandoning the dog, Aleks jogged in the direction of the voices. Risk calling out? Sourly, he decided he had to. Stumbling around with no idea where he was didn’t sound like the brightest of ideas if the government was hunting him. 

“Hey, anybody there?” Energy signatures appeared as he rounded a small hill. Horses? No. Too short. Ponies. The boisterous sounds of laughter disappeared at his holler. “Anyone?” He loped past the last tree separating them from view. 

And felt his jaw drop. 

His gaze swept over the party, cataloging in escalating disbelief. An old man in gray robes with a pointed hat and long beard. A short man with curly hair and big, hairy feet snuffling into a ragged bit of cloth. And thirteen more men with proper foot attire and broad shoulders, all shorter than Aleks, hairy men with full, braided beards. 

“Well now,” the old man said, head tilted to the side as if inspecting him. 

The others were not so reserved. Swords, axes, and one iron ladle appeared in hands as thirteen suspicious eyes beamed his way.

Swords. 

Axes.

Attire ranging from a nice if outdated suit on the bare-footed guy to the scruffy stuff the majority of them wore: furs and leathers, homespun tunics with wide leather belts. If not for the utter absence of additional energy signatures, he’d have sworn he’d stumbled upon a prank in progress or a movie shoot. The scene didn’t make sense without a hidden party ready to jump out of a bush and proclaim, “You’re on candid camera!” Barring that explanation, there was only one other logical conclusion to draw. They were RP nuts. 

_Daphne would have fit right in._ She must have read the Lord of the Rings trilogy a thousand times. This type of role-playing was right up her alley.

Adults reduced to make-believe. It was pathetic. 

“So which of you is supposed to be King Arthur?”


	3. Discoveries

### Chapter 2

No one answered. In fact, not a one looked amused. 

Aleks’s lazy smirk slowly faded, and he cleared his throat. “I, uh, don’t see Excalibur.” _Right, mock them. That’ll make them eager to help you._ He raised a hand. “Sorry, bad joke. Seriously, though, anyone have a phone I can borrow? Great costumes, by the way. Very authentic.” He gave them two thumbs up.

“C-costumes?” the smallest of them piped up as he stuffed his handkerchief into the pocket of his overcoat. The blank look he gave Aleks was convincing. Aleks gave him high scores for acting. 

_And how did they do that to his feet?_ Better question: why? What was the dude trying to be? The things people would do in the name of entertainment.

“What costumes?” the fellow continued, turning baffled eyes on the gray-robed man. 

Merlin, Aleks supposed. Aleks dropped his bag at his feet with a sigh. Really, they were going to make him play along just to use the phone? “No breaking character, huh?”

The man at the head of their group dismounted his pony, hand wrapped around his sword’s hilt. Gray eyes scanned the woods as if seeking sign of threat as he walked closer. With feet on ground, Aleks was surprised to find the man a hand or so shorter than his own five-foot-four. Dark hair fell below the man’s wide shoulders and thin braids adorned his hair near both temples. Another pair of braids bracketed his beard. 

Imposing. That was Aleks’s first impression. Playing dress-up or not, this man exuded power and authority. His stance spoke of a confidence Aleks could only aspire to, a nobility that brought to mind every heroic movie he’d ever seen. Not the ones where a foul-mouthed hero shot up the town in between bedding ladies and spouting off-colored jokes, but the heroes that put them to shame. The John Wayne kind of heroes. The guys who oozed honor. You always knew they would do the Right Thing, not because it was cool but because it was who they were.

Aleks brought himself up short. He didn’t know a thing about the dude, and here he was waxing poetic about his virtues? _That type of man doesn’t exist anymore if he ever did,_ he thought bitterly. Marcus had convinced him of that.

The man didn’t betray any hint of insecurity about being the shorter person. As he finished his slow scan of the area, those piercing eyes met Aleks’s head-on. 

Yet another thing Aleks found himself envying. His height had been a sore issue all of his life. Perhaps if he’d been raised among naiads, things would have been different, but passing as a human meant thirteen years of public school in which he’d been the butt of every short joke imagined.

“What is a young man doing in the wilds alone?” the man asked. 

Aleks found himself instantly responding to the order in his words. “Lost, sir.” Sir? Aleks hadn’t called anyone sir since his father had died. 

The dark-haired man’s head tilted. _Deciding whether or not to believe me._

Hold up. He was playing into their fantasy. These were _reenactment buffs._ The man before him was no more a hero or a leader than Aleks was. Aleks huffed out an exhale. “Look, I just need to borrow a phone. Let me do that, and I’ll be gone. I won’t bother your” – he wracked his mind for a polite descriptor for game playing – “ _thing_ again. Scout’s honor.” He even managed to remember the Boy Scout salute. 

“From where do you hail?”

What was this, Twenty Questions? “Caliente.” Upon receiving yet another blank look, he added, “It’s a small town in central Arizona. We are in Arizona, right?”

The man rocked back on a heel and twisted to level a look at Merlin before turning back to him, arms folding across his chest. 

Two more of the party dismounted, both just as short as the dude before him. _(Short Dudes Anonymous Convention?)_ The taller of the two was bald and burly and hefted a big ax upon one shoulder. The other wore the most idiotic hat Aleks had ever seen. A clown wouldn’t wear it, he was sure. Green-brown eyes swept over him from beneath its floppy brim, and the guy smirked in private amusement. He, too, had dark hair that fell below the shoulders and he had braided his beard so tightly it curled up in two half-arcs. 

“Caliente?” the floppy-hatted man asked as he plunked his – hoe? pick ax? – down on the ground and leaned upon it with one hand. “Is that elvish?” To the bald man, “It sounds elvish. Flows off the tongue like syrup, it does.” His nose scrunched up with a sniff. “Never could stand the taste of the stuff.”

The bald man snorted, and the mounted companions hooted in amusement. 

Aleks felt his temper building. _Elvish?_ Enough with the role-play. “It’s Spanish. What is wrong with you people? I’m sure you’re having a grand ol’ time getting a laugh at my expense, but I don’t appreciate it after the day I’ve had. If you won’t help, say the word, and I’m gone.”

At that, the jester sobered up and leaned forward, studying his face. The leader, or so Aleks mentally dubbed the first guy, remained quiet, and he did it loudly.

“Oi, I think he means it,” the jester said. 

“Gandalf?” the bald man said. 

_Gandalf?_ Wait, that sounded familiar. 

“I have no idea what this…Spanish…is,” the old man said upon reaching their group. 

Aleks's heart stopped. _Staff. Gray robes. Gandalf._ A chill attempted to claim him, but he stubbornly refused to let it settle. “So you’re _Lord of the Rings_ actors.”

“We are no actors,” the leader said, and the way he put it, Aleks was hard-pressed to doubt him. 

_“Lord of the Rings?”_ the bald, burly man asked, brows raised high.

Aleks frowned at him. “As in the trilogy?” He tried to remember what he’d seen, but it was a plain fact that if _she_ liked something, he hated it, sight-unseen. He’d never watched the movies. All he had to go on were the previews. 

“You said you hailed from Cally-en-teh,” “Gandalf” said with narrowed eyes. “And I believe we have been mistaken about you,” he said slowly as if coming to a decision. “No. You are not from the race of men. Nor are you a dwarf or hobbit. Perhaps the better question might be what exactly you are?”

 _Humans First._ His brain leaped to that conclusion, and he was running before the thought finished forming. _The bag!_ Blast it, he’d left it there. 

There was a loud boom from behind, and Aleks felt his feet swept out from under him. He was thrown onto his back and landed hard. 

Voices rose in displeasure, a chorus of grumbling complaints. From the sound of it, he hadn’t been the only soul tossed from his feet. 

“I hate to take such drastic measures, but something is amiss here. Something I fear we must get to the root of before we press on,” the old man said. Before Aleks could jump to his feet, the guy was there, pointed hat casting a shadow upon Aleks’s face and hand outstretched. “No one is going to harm you, young man.”

Lobbing spells around notwithstanding?

 _Spells._ This guy was the real deal. Aleks scrambled back on all fours until he pressed to a tree and drew his knife. “Stay back,” he warned, brandishing the blade. 

“I repeat,” “Gandalf” said with obvious impatience, “no one here wishes to harm you.”

 _Riiight._ This whole thing was off. 

Aleks’s eyes raced from face to face, at a loss to explain what was happening. No role-player could do what that old man had just done. No _human_ could. And if they weren’t human, why would they be dressed up, mimicking a story? He supposed role-players could come in all shapes and sizes, but nothing about this encounter made sense. Why would a wizard play a wizard? What would be the point? Aleks began to pant as fear escalated. 

“Just- Just tell me where we are,” he almost begged, knife arm steady, keeping them at bay. 

“This is Breeland,” the short, strange-footed guy interrupted. Concern pinched his brow.

For the first time, Aleks looked at him. Really looked at him, and realized what he was seeing. This person was a full-grown man, yet he stood perfectly proportioned at close to three-foot-seven. Maybe a few inches taller. His coat was finely tailored with tails at the end like a tux. _Who wears formal attire in the middle of the woods?_ The buttons looked to be wooden toggles, carved by hand based upon the variation between them. His trousers were of a rougher weave than Aleks had seen before. _Hand-made?_

Aleks returned to the short dude’s feet. No special effects could shrink a man, and no special effects ever provided such feet as these - feet that registered as real to a satyr’s vision. Aleks watched the large toes scrunch up in the dirt. That was skin and bone, or he wasn’t a satyr. 

_Faerie._ Could it be? He’d never heard of Breeland. 

A hand grasped the hilt of his knife. Aleks startled, found himself staring up at the leader’s face. Gentle pressure urged him to give it up, and he acquiesced, his mind so full of new fears that he didn’t resist. The leader squatted before him and offered the blade back, handle first. “Return it to its sheath,” the man said.

Aleks obeyed, numb. _This can’t be happening. I can’t be in Faerie._ From all accounts, Faerie was lethal. He’d never have survived this long, and finding kindly travelers was like winning the jackpot. Five times in a row.

“Where is Breeland?” Aleks asked. “Are we in Faerie?” Aleks had never been more frightened, and it leaked into his voice. 

“I know not what Faerie might be, but we are not far from the Shire, land of the halflings,” the leader said.

Wait. The Shire he knew. _She_ had a thing for it. Maps and pictures of it plastered her bedroom walls. The Shire was in Middle Earth. _Back to Lord of the Rings._ Gandalf. Shire. 

A new thought. If Middle Earth did exist, the only way he could wind up here was through an Old One. Those powerful fae were said to be able to see future and distant events. _But I never met a…_ Blue-green eyes filled his mind’s eye. A pale woman’s face, cold and alien in its beauty. “This satisfies the debt,” she’d said.

What debt? Try as he might, he couldn’t remember more. 

_She was an Old One._ That fragment of a memory couldn’t hide the power radiating off of her. When had he met her? How? This whole thing was insane. Aleks rubbed one thumb across his forehead. He swallowed and forced himself to speak. “You’re dwarves?” he hazarded to guess.

The leader nodded once, a slow dip of the head. Even _that_ looked regal, Aleks noted bitterly. Maybe he’d been born the wrong race. He’d always wanted…more. Purpose. Dignity. To prove himself. _Born on the wrong planet to the wrong race._ He sagged against the trunk, wrapping his arms around one raised knee. 

“Is this Middle Earth?” he asked. He felt stupid uttering the words. Really? Middle Earth? But he had to ask. 

“Where did you think you were?” Gandalf asked. Aleks looked up to find the wizard staring at him intently. 

Aleks rammed his head back into the truck. Then again and again. Was he insane? 

A hand pressed to his shoulder. The leader again. Somehow, he felt steadied by the older man’s presence. “Perhaps you should tell us what has happened to you.” Over his shoulder, he called, “Ori, Dori, set up camp. Gloin, gather firewood.” Turning back to Aleks, he said, “We’re halting for the day.”

OoOoOoOo

It’s hard to explain just how terrifying things become when everything vanishes behind the cloak of perfect night. The smiling moon still shined and the stars yet twinkled from their firmament, but not a speck of their light penetrated to the dismal streets around me. I couldn’t see the boundaries of my alcove. I couldn’t see my own hands.

Add to that a host of unknown sounds, and a fertile imagination takes over. At first, I ignored the thumping of my heart and told myself I was hearing the wind - loose shale, brittle, dead branches being swept about. Made sense. But in the back of my mind, I imagined the shadow. It grew and took shape, a black specter with ebony eyes like pits of death. 

_Stop it._ I tried to dash the growing picture to pieces. It reformed, time and again, haunting me and replaying until sweat broke out upon my body. For the first time in a long, long time, I wished my twin was with me. He could hurl all the insults he wished. Just so I wouldn’t be alone. 

Canine howls. My hair stood on end. _That was no wolf._ Nor was it a dog. Both were very familiar to me. The throat that uttered that chilling sound was not something of Earth. Confirming my suspicions. If not Earth, what did that leave? _Faerie._ If there were other worlds, I sure didn’t know about them. 

I stayed very still. Kept my breaths even, quiet. What I wanted to do was flip out. Faerie was almost impossible to escape. The stories about people stumbling into it? All true. But so were the darker stories of people never seen again, or worse, returned but utterly insane.

My hands clenched convulsively upon my tote. It didn’t make sense. Had Marcus handed Aleks and me over to an Old One? Betrayed us? Why? He’d never become “Dad”, but I’d thought he’d at least cared. 

_Why you’re surprised, I don’t know._ If Aleks could turn on me, anyone could. I’d thought I’d learned not to trust, but apparently, the lesson hadn’t stuck. I’d trusted Marcus to be fair. I’d trusted Nancy to keep Aleks and me safe. 

_Doesn’t matter now._ And it didn’t. All that mattered was survival. If I was in Faerie, I couldn’t trust a thing I saw, heard, or felt. That changing land was full of lies and deceit, illusion and horrific realities - hence the padded rooms for most of the “survivors”. 

How was I going to get out of here? Remaining in Faerie meant death, slavery or insanity. The nightmare unfolding around me might be nothing more than a construct conjured for the amusement of an Old One. Find some pour hapless soul, toss her in, and sit back chortling as she turns rabbit. Or plunk some dire creature into the mix, and watch the two duke it out, predator to prey. 

_What if it isn’t Faerie?_ I’d drive myself equally mad doubting everything I saw. _Aleks, where are you when I need you?_ The desperate mental cry went out instinctively. My breath caught, but he didn’t answer. He hadn’t responded that way since the day he found out I’d… 

I gutted the thought. If this was Faerie, I couldn’t allow that particular event to replay in my mind for some monster’s amusement. What if it decided to make it real for sport? 

Aleks didn’t answer. Either he couldn’t or wouldn’t, and both options left me alone. I didn’t want to be alone. Not with this. A partner could help me figure out what was happening. Maybe another vantage point would prove if I was stuck in illusion or not. 

If I’d had any doubts after that of where I was, the rest of the night convinced me. I heard more from the canine creatures. I heard humanoid things with guttural, sharp-edged laughs that belonged to none of the non-humans from home. They were not werewolf or centaur or any of the lesser fae I was familiar with. Those voices contained cruel undertones, grating notes. 

No way would I willingly let those creatures find me.

And then there was something that shrieked with enough force to swallow the world. The first time it cried out, I about expired. My hands clutched my chest as such terror as I’d never even imagined rocketed through my body like a nightmarish lightning strike. My heart ached, it thumped so hard. No normal terror, that. It was dense, weighty. I could feel it settle upon the ruined city like oppressive swaddling. Tangible. Real, with mass and temperature and volume. Cold. So cold. It felt like the stone around me froze over with ice, yet my fingertips found no accompanying slickness. 

A desperate need to see what it was almost convinced me to pop out of my alcove. Almost. When I realized just how close I’d come to betraying my presence, I hugged my tote all the tighter. 

_Go away,_ I thought at the unknown creature. _Please, just go away._

It didn’t, but after a time, silence descended, increasing my panic instead of alleviating it. With no noise, I couldn’t mentally track the denizens of this place. I couldn’t pinpoint what direction they were or if they were approaching. Silence proved a worse evil.

Had this new thing frightened the other creatures into hiding, too?

Another shriek, a burst of inhuman, jeering laughter.

_That’s a no._

What were these foul things?


	4. Still Alive

### Chapter 3

The dwarves were efficient, Aleks would give them that. The leader had no sooner delivered his orders than the party burst into a flurry of activity. Two dwarves, younger than the majority of them, took charge of the ponies while the biggest of the bunch, girth-wise, started laying out cooking utensils and readying a mid-sized metal cook pot over a fire-pit constructed by a shorter, red-headed dwarf.

 _Wait, wasn’t he in the movie?_ Aleks eyed the redhead closely. It wasn’t an exact match, but how could it be with actors? Still, the nose, the angle of the jaw, it had to be him. What was his name? He was that elf’s side-kick, the elf all the chicks drooled over. Aleks wracked his brain for a name. Legs-something, wasn’t it? Which would make the dwarf G-, no J-. Bah, all he could come up with was Jimmy. That wasn’t it. 

How, he kept asking himself, could he be in a story? Or was it just a story? Point: the Old Ones were scary powerful. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that one peeked into a crystal ball and somehow got wind of this place. Perhaps he or she wrote it down. It was either that or Aleks would have to consider that he’d gone loony tunes. 

The idea of Faerie did cross his mind again, but he dismissed it. He’d been too safe. Faerie would have had him peeing his pants with terror by now. Plus, the denizens of Faerie wouldn’t be offering him succor - well, not unless it was to get him to eat Faerie food. 

_Nah, too elaborate a plot for something time alone would see done._ He’d have to eat sometime once his stores ran out. There’d be no need to trick him into taking a bite. Ergo, this wasn’t Faerie. Unless something occurred to change his mind, he’d stick with the first option as his working theory. Middle Earth. Spying Old One. It was weird, but so was life.

Gandalf and the leader - he’d yet to hear his name - escorted him to the forming campsite, the leader gesturing him to a seat before hunkering down at his side. Gandalf perched upon a stone and pulled a pipe from his travel-soiled robes. He stuffed dried - tobacco? - into it and lit the pipe with one finger. In seconds, the wizard was puffing away with lazy enjoyment. 

“Old Toby,” he said. “Best in the Shire.”

The small man - a hobbit? - ventured over and cleared his throat. “I prefer Longbottom Leaf, myself.” A short, hesitant smile. Then the hobbit offered Aleks his hand. “Bilbo Baggins.”

Aleks gratefully accepted his hand. “Aleks. Aleks Hunt,” he said in return. As he sat back down, he turned to his right. “And you are Gandalf the Grey.”

The wizard nodded and exhaled a stream of smoke before gesturing with his pipe to Aleks’s other side. “The leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Aleks didn’t recall that name but nodded.

“Who is this King Arthur you mentioned?” Thorin asked, his gaze steady, face sober. 

Aleks pulled his duffle into his lap. Thorin tensed minutely, and the dwarf in the floppy hat sidled over, hands fingering his pick-ax. Aleks halted what he was doing and said, “You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you unless I have props.”

“Props?” Bilbo echoed.

Aleks nodded. “Things from my home.” 

With a flick of two fingers, Thorin dismissed the protective dwarf.

Aleks exhaled gustily. “Right.” Gathering his courage for the challenge before him, he turned to Thorin. Gandalf, mighty wizard as he might be, didn’t seem as decisive. Commanding. _Smart._ “I’m from a land called Earth. Not Middle Earth, just Earth. And believe me, I know how insane that sounds.”

Thorin accepted a thin, wooden bowl from another dwarf absently, his attention never departing from Aleks. “Go on.”

Aleks thanked the dwarf as he, too, was offered a bowl. The dwarf in question, the big one, gave him a brief, round-cheeked smile. 

“In my world, there are all kinds of peoples. Like here I guess. Only instead of elves, dwarves, and hobbits, we have humans and the fae.” Aleks scratched at an itch on his elbow, ordering his words. “Fae is a broad term for everything that comes from a land called Faerie. Faerie is…bad. Really bad. Most of the lesser fae, those not considered powerful, fled from there over a thousand years ago. We don’t dare venture back.”

“Sounds dangerous,” the floppy-hatted dwarf commented from where he now stood over the cooking pot. The big dwarf smacked his hand with a ladle when he dared to lower a finger towards its contents. 

“Lethal,” Aleks corrected. “The Old Ones, the most powerful of the Fae, are immoral and immortal by all accounts. They act as if the rest of creation exists for their pleasure. I’ve never been to Faerie, but the stories say they like their games. They’ll hunt the less powerful down, toy with their minds.” He tugged on his ear, changing tracks. “Anyway, my own people are considered lesser fae. We’re naiads.” To Thorin, “Basically, our men - or satyrs - are connected to the animal world. We can talk to animals, after a fashion. We understand them, feel what they are feeling.” Awkward to sing his own praises, he hurried over, “Satyrs make excellent trackers and hunters. We love working with animals.”

“And the women?” Gandalf this time, curiosity bright in his eyes. 

“We call them dryads. They are linked to plants. A dryad can make things grow or cure most sicknesses found in plants.” Reluctantly, he acknowledged, “They are the best healers, period. Dryads know instinctively which herbs will work best within an individual body.” The subject brought _her_ to mind, and Aleks felt his temper sharpening in response. He took a sip of water from an offered flask to buy himself a minute to cool down. 

“You have proof of your claims?” Thorin asked. 

Aleks inclined his head and unzipped his bag. “Yeah, I do.” He removed his copy of _It_ and set the bulky book aside. He wasn’t about to demonstrate a rifle – that was his ace up the sleeve – so he pulled out his little mp3 player. “This device stores music and replays it at…um…demand.” He thumbed through the options, searching for a song he could queue up that wouldn’t be too jarring. “I’m going to guess you don’t have anything like this here.” Lopsided grin. 

“Music? Is going to come out of that?” a young dwarf asked, plopping down next to Bilbo with quill and parchment in hand. The studious young dwarf leaned closer. “How does it work?”

Ahem. Uh. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I, uh, don’t rightly know. I just know it works.” He landed on the closing credits song to the game Portal, _Still Alive._ Quirked a grin. Perfect. 

With a push of the button, the song began to play. Aleks turned up the volume so that the dwarves straining to hear across the fire could do so. Many an eye went from him to Gandalf and back again. The duo hovering over the kettle shuffled nearer. 

“Blimey, how’d you fit a lass in there?” the silly-hatted dwarf asked with a drawl. 

“I don’t understand half of what she’s going on about,” an auburn-haired dwarf stated. His hair was slicked to a softened point atop his head.

“Do we ever know half of what a lass goes on about?” the hatted dwarf said in return to much laughter, Aleks joining in. He rather liked these dwarves. An interesting bunch. 

When the song ended, he powered the device off and slipped it back into his bag. He risked a glance Thorin’s way. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Thorin smoothed one brow. “You’ve made your case, though the idea of another world is difficult to swallow, Master Hunt.”

 _Mas—_ Oh. “Please, call me Aleks. Master Hunt sounds like someone else.” 

“Aleks.” Thorin’s head dipped forward. 

“I…uh…should also tell you I have an alter form,” Alex ventured. The last thing he wanted was to go satyr and have them flip out on him if unwarned. He’d rather know now, rifle near at hand, if they would turn on him as a monster. Tension pooled across his mid-back.

Thorin exchanged a brief look with Gandalf, but his face remained impassive. “An alter form? What do you mean by that?”

Aleks rubbed nervous hands down his jean-clad thighs. “I’ll show you. Naiads have two appearances. One is that of a smaller human.” Swallowed. “The other varies with gender.” A harried look towards Thorin. “I don’t want to wind up being poked full of holes, if you don’t mind.”

Surprise and mild humor crossed Thorin’s face. The humor persisted after the surprise melted away. He leaned back and directed his words to the entire camp, “I believe we can promise that no one will strike you down.”

Masculine voices rang out in agreement and assurance. All of them were gathering, even the two who had been off with the ponies. Aleks bit back a gripe about that. After all, the point was for them to see him. They couldn’t do that if they weren’t here. 

Aleks pulled his boots from his feet and stood, walked a few steps outside the camp, and flexed his hands. He debated picking up the rifle, but wouldn’t that betray its function? _Besides, if they turn violent, no rifle will save me._ There were too many of them. _Plus the wizard,_ he thought as his gaze landed on the gray-robed man. 

With no further words, he closed his eyes and let his satyr form emerge. It felt like a rush of warmth spreading from his core to his extremities. Everything turned sharper - smells, sounds, and (when he opened his eyes) sight. His fears and insecurities disappeared, not really understood by the satyr. 

The dwarves, hobbit, and wizard stared at him, slack-jawed. One dwarf’s pipe dropped from his slack lips, spilling burning embers upon his tunic. He jerked to awareness, slapping out sparks and puffing on singed fingers. 

The urge to run off began to build in the back of his head. Aleks dropped the alter form, this time watching as cloven hoofs melted into human feet. The heavy weight of antlers upon his crown eased and disappeared. He cleared his throat. “That’s it.”

“That’s it, the lad says, as if he were commenting upon the weather,” one dwarf said. He had a solid gray head of hair and a beard braided in two thick plaits that hung to his belly. 

“For him, I imagine it would be, Dori,” another gray-headed dwarf responded. This one was taller than the former, with a beard lined by thinner braids. 

“True, true,” the first returned.

The second tilted his head to the side, his hands folded across his stomach. “Well, now, you’ve done what you set out to do, laddie, and survived to tell the tale. Balin, at your service,” he said with a bow. 

Before he could respond to the introduction, Bilbo chimed in. “Fascinating. All of the men of your people can do this?”

“Does it hurt?”

Thorin held up a hand, halting the deluge of questions. “Fíli, Kíli, back to your duties.” He turned to Aleks and gestured to his seat. Aleks returned. 

“I have one question,” Thorin said once Aleks was settled. 

Aleks’s lips twitched. “Only one?”

There was no humor on Thorin’s face. “For now.”

“Okay.”

“Is there anything I need to know for your safety and ours about your other form?”

Aleks blinked, surprised. Slowly, he nodded. “The satyr form is more closely tied to the animal world. When I am a satyr, my senses are sharper, but I’m also more ruled by instinct.”

“You mean you react more like an animal as well,” Thorin almost accused, not letting the matter drop.

Aleks felt his jaw tighten. Anger flared, as well as a healthy dose of humiliation. “I am no animal,” he growled.

Thorin’s hand whipped out, halting him before he could rise. “That is not what I said. Nor is it what I meant.”

Aleks exhaled. Maybe he’d overreacted again, Aleks admitted to himself. He’d been raised by a werewolf. How would he know what was normal for a male naiad? The truth was, he’d called himself worse for the instincts the satyr form brought. He mumbled something in apology. 

It was then that Gandalf changed the topic. Whether it was out of pity or inability to hold back a burning question, Aleks didn’t know. He could only be thankful for it. 

“How do you know of our world, Aleks? Are your people often travelers between the realms?” Gandalf placed hands on his knees, pipe clasped in one hand. 

Aleks tugged on his shoes, shooting Gandalf a faintly irritated look. Not that he didn’t understand the question, but it put him in an awkward spot. “There are these books…”

“Books?” The scholarly dwarf again, clearly interested.

“Books,” Aleks said at last. No need to open the entire topic of movies. “They were written decades ago, but they describe Middle Earth.” To Gandalf directly, “They are thought to be fiction. Stories. That’s all.”

“What do they say?” Thorin asked in a quiet, commanding tone.

Facing Thorin, “They outline a series of events. The stories most familiar are collectively called _The Lord of the Rings._ To be honest, I never read them. That was more my sis—” _Oh, shut up, fool._ The last thing he wanted was for these dwarves to find out about his missing sister and set out in search for her.

“You have a sister,” Thorin concluded, one brow lifting. 

Aleks struggled with himself and climbed to his feet, unable to sit still. Forced himself to speak, knowing his bitter anger was written all over his face. “No, I have no sister.” 

OoOoOo

Thorin watched the young naiad stomp off, his thin frame vibrating with fury. The dwarf’s gaze sidled over, encountered the wizard’s. 

“There’s a story there,” the wizard murmured, his head moving to follow the naiad’s progress from camp. 

“Indeed.” Thorin hefted his bowl as Bombur passed, doling out the night’s offerings. Thyme and garlic wafted up from the bowl of stew, and Thorin poked his spoon into it, stirring it to allow it to cool. “Do you believe him?”

Gandalf accepted his own bowl with a nod of thanks. “About his heritage, there can be no doubt. His claims to be from another world are another matter. However, I do, strangely enough.” The wizard tested a mouthful of his dinner with ginger care. “That is one angry young man.” A pause. “We cannot leave him alone.”

No, they couldn’t. Thorin believed the satyr, for in all his wanderings, he’d never encountered such a people. Nor, he mused, had Gandalf, and that in itself was telling. No, as incredible as it seemed, this world was not the boy’s. While he wasn’t thrilled with the satyr’s inclusion in their group, he could not in good conscience leave him alone, ignorant of this world and its dangers. 

“Do you think she’s dead?” the hobbit piped up, his small face scrunched in worry. “His sister?”

That wasn’t Thorin’s impression, though he didn’t say as much. That naiad’s voice had failed to conceal the bitterness that festered within him. He had a sister, all right. Only one thing put that note into a person’s speech, something he knew full well: betrayal.

OoOoOo

When dawn arrived, I thought I was imagining it. Night had so stretched into infinity, I’d given up hope of seeing the sun ever rise. Gradually, the night sounds ended. No snarls, growls, or shrieks. An ocean of silence descended upon the ruins, unbroken by birds or insects. A weak wind struggled by, echoing hollowly in my hole.

For the longest time, I didn’t move. My body was utterly spent. A night of terror left me fuzzy-headed, scared, and lethargic. 

_Don’t waste daylight,_ a part of me said. It was right. I wouldn’t survive another night here. I had to find a way out of these ruins, or I would die. If those creatures didn’t get me, the terror would. The body could only take so much, and already I felt…damaged. Bruised and scraped raw. 

I fell from my alcove, limbs wobbly and stiff from being cramped in a hole so long. A tug, and the tote flopped out to my side. 

_At least the headache is gone._ My lips twisted in a facsimile of a smile, but I couldn’t dredge up any amusement to accompany it. Against my will, my head turned towards the cloaked statue. The sinister air remained, but in comparison to the night’s events, it lacked the same punch. 

I toggled open my tote, fingering through its contents. _Bite-sized Snickers._ Quick energy. I popped two squares into my mouth, chewing and searching further. 

_Ah._ In a side pocket, I found my set of ceramic knives - a gift from Marcus back when he still believed he could take both Aleks and me out into the wilderness for bonding time. They’d become my tools for harvesting greenery, be it foraged herbs, flowers, or fruit. I took the largest of the set from the niche and set it aside. 

Before continuing, I glanced around carefully. My hearing felt super heightened, sensitive to the faintest whisper of a breeze. 

Water came next. I uncapped a plastic bottle and drank it down in one long draught before stowing the empty container away. I’d reuse it if I could locate a clean water source. 

_Good luck with that._ I wasn’t sure I would trust any water originating from this region. _There has to be something else in this world besides ruins._

But what if these ruins _did_ extend throughout this land? A small shiver raced down my spine. I forced myself to ignore the possibility. Counterproductive and too freaking scary, to be honest. 

I retied the laces on my sneakers and reached for the hair tie I always kept in my front pants pocket. Paused. Examined my hair. The night had been brutal and my hair showed it. The strands bracketing my face were gnawed down until they no longer reached my shoulders. A quick inspection proved they were just long enough to reach my mouth. _Grimace._ My hair was a mess and too short to pull back into a ponytail. 

A noise too low to identify had me freezing in place. My head whirled in that direction, and my breath caught. There it was again. I quietly slipped the tote’s straps over my shoulder and palmed my knife, slipping it free from its leather sheath. Not knowing what else to do with the sheath, I stuffed it into my left pocket where it created a nice, awkward bulge. 

_Should have worn jeans._

Next time I got banished to Faerie, I’d keep it in mind. For now, my linen drawstring pants and short-sleeved baby blue sweater would have to do. No way was I stripping down to my neverminds to change in this place. 

_Alright then._ Forward. Keeping my head below the level of the broken wall beside me, I hurried in the opposite direction, utilizing the first break in the tumbled structure to hang a left. 

Whatever the sound had been, I’m happy to report I never came face-to-face with it. I zig-zagged through the ruins, keeping to a mostly western heading. 

The sun rose higher. My body trembled with fatigue. My woozy-headedness became dangerous. I’d tripped and almost hurled myself down a narrow flight of broken stairs. I’d brained myself on a low hanging faux-branch I’d neglected to notice. I’d even come close to walking over a gaping hole in what turned out to be a bridge, barely catching myself before it ended with me taking a nice stroll off the proverbial cliff.

I halted, shoulders sagging. Was I going in circles? Impossible to say. So much of this ruined maze looked the same. I supposed I could sketch marks upon the columns with my tube of Origin’s lip gloss, but wasn’t that just begging for some monster to find me? 

Yeah. Not going there. 

It seemed the sun raced across the sky. All too soon, it was directly overhead. I swatted ragged, brown hair from my face, still frightened and now beginning to panic. I could have screamed in frustration and wept with exhaustion.

Was this entire complex some Faerie illusion? Well, no, demonstrably not. (I rubbed my bruised forehead.) But in case some of it was a figment of my imagination - or illusion - I’d prodded and pushed against a number of random walls. They didn’t feel different from the real deal and they sure as snootin’ didn’t move. 

But would I recognize a difference if my mind was being messed with? Gah, I didn’t even know if my thoughts held any relation to _logical_ anymore. I felt borderline crazed. 

If there had been plants growing anywhere in what I now thought of as The Ruins From H— Ahem. You know. Anyway, if there had been, I could have used them as stationary points around which to navigate. Search as I might, my eyes failed to detect so much as a windblown germ of a weed. 

Maybe it was time to take root. Though, I had to admit, I was skeptical of what benefit I’d get from the little bit of dirt I could sink my dryad form’s roots into. _The ground is probably poisoned anyway,_ I thought glumly. Oh, but turning part-tree did sound tempting, if only because it would allow me to sleep. Trees weren’t so big on the fear thing. Unless an ax was hacking away at them, such an emotion rarely touched them. 

All of a sudden, the omnipresent dread skyrocketed. A shadow seemed to fall upon my patch of road, a shadow I couldn’t explain when I looked towards the hazy outline of the sun. There was _nothing there._ My grip on the knife tightened until my fingers ached, and I backed away with slow, even steps. I tried to be very careful, but it seemed a Herculean task to muster up the brain power to do so. Luck was with me, and I didn’t trip upon the fallen blocks littering the area. 

Then I saw him - an old man with wizened gray hair hanging below his shoulders. Threadbare brown robes covered his angular frame, and a floppy, pointed hat of the same hue perched haphazardly atop his thin face. His pale eyes never rested as he turned in a slow circle, a twisted staff of rowan gripped in both hands and hefted defensively. From his lips fell a cadence of syllables, soft and commanding. 

They stuttered and stopped as his eyes alighted upon me. “A lady?” he asked with messy brows arched high. He looked stunned. “Well now, look at that,” he commented under his breath. 

A ghastly shadow of midnight black rose up from behind yet another of the cloaked statues. An _armed_ shadow. Its blade glinted in the low sunlight, making it look supremely long and lethal. In a heartbeat, the man-shaped shadow poised to strike.

“Behind you,” I shouted.

The old man whirled around, but the inky, shapeless form disappeared into the statue before he’d turned. The man backed up with slow steps, one end of his staff pointed at the cloaked stone figure. His hands were white about his weapon, and his body was tense as he muttered more incomprehensible words. 

A small hummingbird darted out of a side path and flew right up to his nose. It made a series of high-pitched clicking noises.

“Is that so?” the man asked.

The bird bobbed its head, clicking once more. 

“Thank you, Robert. Back home you go, my friend.”

Another chirp and the bird zoomed from sight. 

My eyes widened. _Radagast._

Stupid conclusion since there was no Middle Earth, but that is what my brain provided. There wasn’t much description of him in the books that I’d read, and the movie had portrayed him quite differently, but brown robes, talking to animals? 

_Coincidence._

Immediately a counter thought: Faerie. What if some Old One had pulled “Radagast” from my mind? 

But why him? Wouldn’t pulling, oh say, Boromir be more effective? I’d always had a soft spot for the doomed steward’s son, so I’d have expected that if someone was messing with me, he’d be the venue of choice instead of an obscure character like the Brown Wizard.

The old man resumed his low words, making his way to me with slow, deliberate steps, one foot crossing over the other. At no time did his staff dip or his stance relax. No doddering idiot, this man. Odd, certainly. But there was no bird poop matting his hair and no vacuous idiocy evident in his eyes. 

So, coincidence. Maybe. 

Gah, I was too tired and scared to think straight. Should I run? Hide from this maybe-Radagast? What if he was some malevolent fae in disguise? 

_What if he’s not? Do I really want to spend another night here?_

Uh, no. Thanks anyway. I’d take my chances with the old man. Being killed and eaten (if he proved the sort to do the whole killing and eating shtick) might be an improvement to another night like the last one. 

At last, the wizard reached my side. Hazel eyes swept over me, his brow furrowing at what he found. “Not of the race of men,” he mused. 

_Race of men._ A part of me jumped up and down, pointing an accusatory finger at the statement. _Sounds like Middle Earth talk._

Whoever this man was, if he was supposed to be Radagast, he certainly stayed in character. Or was the real thing. (Not that _that_ was possible.) But Radagast was purported to be a solitary soul, not used to the company of other humanoid beings. Where anyone else would ask me what I was, or more importantly, who I was and what I was doing here, he seemed to overlook that avenue, content to chat with himself. 

Something caused him to twirl around in an agile twist, staff rising higher. “Remain close, leaf-child. We are not alone.” 

No, really? 

He turned from our path, choosing a broader, broken road. Before my brain could catch up with my flapping mouth, it came out: “Are you Radagast?” 

Dagger-sharp hazel eyes whipped in my direction, not really landing on me but rather the air before my face. He stared at that patch of space for a long moment. “What,” he asked in a soft, intent voice, “are you doing here?” 

Again, his words seemed more self-directed, but I deemed the question a fair one. If I’d been him, I wouldn’t be so happy to have a strange person show up unexpected in a place like this. Especially if that person then used my name like I was expected or something. It would set off all of _my_ alarms, anyway.

Assuming I’d had sleep and was coherent enough to _have_ a mental alarm, I mean. Which rather excluded me that day since a stranger had, in fact, shown up out of nowhere and here I was dogging his footsteps like an obedient pooch. Ugh. My brain felt like mush. 

Wait. He’d asked something, right? I reviewed the last few minutes. Yeah, he had. The best I could come up with? “I woke up here.” Winced. _I woke up here? Riiight._

“Hmm.” He resume his course. If he harbored suspicions about me, he did nothing about it. The wizard progressed through the ruins with a seeming destination in mind, pausing periodically to mutter more strange words under his breath.

I shifted the weight of my tote over my left shoulder, keeping my right hand - and its blade - unencumbered. _I should probably put that away,_ I mused distantly. Before I tripped and impaled myself on it. Yet, I felt safer with it in my grasp. _It stays._

“I don’t know how I got here,” I added in a low tone.

His steps halted, and he reached back, placing one dirt-dusted hand to my forehead. Making a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, he dropped his hand and reclaimed his grip on his staff. “There is no taint of shadow upon you.” Another hmm. “Why? Who would bring you here? What would be the purpose?”

I had no answer. “ _Are_ you Radagast?”

“Radagast the Brown, yes,” he said. “Do you know where you are?” Academic curiosity. 

I moistened my lips again. “If you are Radagast, this is…” Heavy swallow. “Dol Guldur.” 

He froze. Turned around, hazel eyes burning with intellect. For the first time, he really saw me, eyes meeting mine directly. “When we find a safer venue, we must talk, leaf-child.”

Leaf-child again. What did he know? And was that confirmation that he wasn’t what he seemed? That he possessed knowledge he shouldn’t have?

A shadow-creature leaped from behind a squat column lining the road, its sword flashing. I screamed, waved my small knife in a lame sweep, and stumbled backwards, tripping over one of the uneven stones underfoot. Down I went.

The blade arched towards Radagast. His gnarled staff intercepted it with a muted clang. The wizard swept the blade aside and thrust the butt of his staff at the thing’s midsection. The specter split like mist, unaffected, and reformed as the staff was yanked back. Before Radagast recovered, the shadow lunged again, blade thrusting straight towards him. Radagast parried, the tip grazing long a thick fold in his robes. Again, the thing attacked.

As they circled each other, the thing gained definition, as if it was becoming more solid. More real. A black, foggy head topped gaunt shoulders and skeletal torso. The legs remained an ambiguous, hazy impression, as did the arms. 

It couldn’t be a Ringwraith, could it? 

The battle threatened to mow me down. I scurried backwards until my back collided with another of the short pillars. _Middle Earth doesn’t exist,_ I repeated to myself, trying to believe it. And that, in a nutshell, was the danger of Faerie. You believed what they wanted you to believe. The mad survivors claimed to have seen Sir Lancelot, danced with Guinevere. One insisted he’d been to Pern and ridden a Bronze dragon. 

None of this was real. There was no Radagast and no Dol Guldur. I couldn’t let myself fall prey to believing it. It was too pat, too simple. I’d loved Middle Earth from the first time my mother read me _The Hobbit._ To think it possible to end up there was ludicrous. Someone was playing with me, capitalizing upon my dreams. 

The sword screamed through the air and sliced into the wall beside me. _Illusion,_ I babbled to myself, only to be proved wrong as a sharp, burning pain immediately flared. The sword hadn’t missed, though I didn’t believe I’d been the real target. Wrong place, wrong time. 

I hissed and backed up again, this time freaking out about the injury. If this scenario was based upon Middle Earth, did that mean I’d been poisoned? _Morgul blade._ Was it a Morgul blade? I slapped one hand upon my bleeding wound and hastened backwards. 

Radagast went on the offensive, the agile old man wielding his staff like something out of _The Matrix._ It slashed through the mist’s body, but before the mist adjusted, it suddenly changed trajectory, shifting upward towards the head. Then, it sliced downward, colliding with where the shadow’s wrist would be - had he enough substance to _have_ one. The blade was knocked free, clattering to the ground as Radagast’s stave once more swept through the thing’s body. Only this time, the staff’s tip glowed. 

The wizard spat something, and the creature disintegrated with an eerie moan. Panting, Radagast turned to me and said one word: “Run!”

Behind him, two…six…then dozens of the things materialized from broken walls and statues. All armed. All rushing in our direction. 

Like Speedy Gonzales, I was _gone._

Legs pedaling like mad, I looked back - a part of me had to see, had to know if they were gaining. Radagast scooped up the defeated creature’s blade without breaking stride. “Straight ahead,” he hollered over the building, muffled roar of a thousand black things lifting their heads in fury. 

Radagast pressed one hand to my back, accelerating our pace until I nearly couldn’t keep up. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back!”


	5. Greenwood the Great

### Chapter 4

The horde of specters chased us through the winding, crumbling streets and down perilous flights of stairs. My heart pounded in my throat, fear chugging through my veins like ice floes. It was just _wrong._ Where we had to navigate actual topography, these freaky things passed through walls and floors as if they didn’t exist. 

And perhaps, for them, they didn’t. Faerie was like that.

Imitation-Radagast proved to be a spry guy. I had long since started huffing and puffing, my leg muscles burning, while he sprinted like a gazelle with no sign of tiring. An old man, even an Istari, should not be able to do that. It was unnatural. 

_I. Hate. Faerie,_ I growled. 

The skin along my spine twitched and prickled with the imagined sensation of hundreds of ghostly fingertips. I couldn’t not look behind. Closer. They were gaining fast. I moaned in the back of my throat and tried to eke more speed from my poor, groggy body. “Gaining,” I gasped.

Radagast lifted his staff into the air without breaking stride. The tip fired up, blazing like a miniature sun. A beam of light shot out from it straight into the air. As if he wielded a scalpel, the blinding light sliced through the dark shroud veiling the sky overhead, creating a rift through which pure, unadulterated sunshine finally poured through. 

Warmth licked my skin, a welcome sensation I hadn’t even realized how much I’d thirsted for. I longed to halt and lift my face in its direction, to absorb every hint of the sun’s rays that I could. 

Not that Radagast permitted that to happen. The instant my steps flagged the barest amount, he whomped me in the butt with the other end of his staff. I squeaked something unintelligible in protest.

“Now is not the time for sight-seeing,” he barked. “Flee!”

I was beginning to like Hollywood’s version of the guy a lot better.

That sunlight proved to be our saving grace. The ghostly creatures could not endure its touch. When we raced across an open courtyard, they melted both under and around it like something from the Bellagio water display. Creepy, not knowing where, exactly, they all were. My imagination painted creatures right beneath my sneakers, ready to reach up and snatch me. It was almost a relief when they reappeared the instant we raced past larger structures, structures offering bigger pools of shade for them to traverse along.

We ran long after I had a stitch in my side, our path always shying away from the denser regions of the ruins. It probably added miles to our journey with us bolting from one open pool of sunlight to another. My lungs struggled, and my head started to throb. With no food in over twenty-four hours and only one bottle of water in as much time, I was running on a piddling amount of fumes. 

In the distance, a massive gate appeared. I felt awe even through the incessant panic that herded me onward. Once, it must have been an incredible sight. Ornate depictions of leafy fronds and blooming flowers hugged the edges while slender sylphs lifted their arms in dance within the center. It was rough now, pit-marked and faded, most of the paint long since chipped away. 

The wall it connected to showed signs of equal attention. No mere block wall, this. The structure hinted at a former glory, with vine-like detailing along the base and a top edge that swooped up into spires. I imagined it once looked majestic. Now, those time-blackened points looked ghastly and sinister in an _abandon-hope-all-who-enter-here_ kind of way. 

Radagast made a beeline for the gate. The nearer we drew, the taller both the wall and gate appeared. We raced - okay, he raced and I stumbled - down a last flight of stairs to a cobbled street on ground level. From here, the wall stretched to the heavens, its reach immense and imposing. 

No pause. We hit ground and fled towards freedom. 

The gate’s twin, half-moon doors had rusted in the open position - hallelujah! - saving us from having to physically wrestle the massive things open. Through its open mouth, I gained my first view of the world outside. For the record, it was none too comforting. Sickly, diseased plant energy signatures lit up the entire gaping maw in a grotesque yellow only faintly contested by a base, healthy emerald. Yellowish columns - trees, too many to begin to count - stretched out as far as the eye could see. The affliction tainted every single one of them. As I got closer, a shadowy something popped into view, a blackness that fizzled within each field like some malevolent static. 

Then I spotted our ride. 

“You have to be joking,” I gasped, steps slacking. It was a sled. _The sled_ \- the diabolical, rabbit-drawn contraption from the movie. _I should have seen this coming._ If this was a Faerie construct from my memories, of course the sled would be here. But, c’mon, rabbits? It was one thing to see them on the big screen and snigger at the spectacle. It was quite another to have your life depend upon them. 

“Hurry, into the front,” the brown-robed man ordered. 

Can I admit to hesitating? Not because of the rabbits, though, yeah…rabbits. But a part of me felt like I was being herded. Someone dumped me in this setting, a setting (Middle Earth, not Dol Guldur per se) about which I’d entertained many a wistful daydream. Talk about being designed to lure me in. And now, Radagast’s so-convenient actions provided us an avenue of escape just in the nick of time, rabbits willing. 

Coincidence?

“What are you doing, foolish child?” Radagast hissed. “GO!” 

His staff once more connected with my rear end, and I whirled around to hiss, “Will you stop that?” only to get another eye-full of the massive black tidal wave racing towards us. 

My feet sure grew wings after that. I flew past the old man, fumbling to shove my knife into my tote at the same time. I heard the wizard shout in a booming voice. What he did, I didn’t see, nor did I witness its effectiveness, but the ground underfoot reverberated with the sheer power of it. Thumper and his friends got awfully jittery, the whites of their eyes visible as their little paws stamped out agitated, impatient patterns. 

I hurled myself into the sled’s cargo bed, landing on my side with one leg dangling off. I had no time to right myself, for Radagast hawed and the rabbits were off, lurching in jerky fits as they got us going. 

The rabbits veered left. My hands scrambled for a hold, latching around the first piece of the sled’s frame they encountered as the sled careened on one side, close to spilling me from the bed. 

“Hold tight!” Radagast hollered just as a low-hanging branch sent him ducking down upon the floorboard. 

The rabbits hopped at a frenetic pace, their little bunny ears bobbing with every jounce. We weaved between dark, gloomy tree trunks and around obstacles too big for them to manage, which was, regrettably, just about everything. Dol Guldur faded from view almost immediately, replaced by - I remembered belatedly - the cloying bulk of Mirkwood. 

_Dope._ Sickly trees. Outside of Dol Guldur. I should have remembered that. The Old One behind this whole construct sure hadn’t. 

Bracing myself with knees splayed until they pressed against rims of the cargo bed, I steadied myself by gripping the outer edge of the handle bars and peered over Radagast’s shoulder. The seething black sea hadn’t followed, but a team of mounted orcs had. Their warg steeds chuffed with effort, mouths open and exposing humongous teeth. The distance between us closed fast. 

“Wargs!” I shouted, unable to tear my gaze away. 

_Still think this isn’t Middle Earth? _a part of me derided. Actually, yeah, I didn’t. But the fact that some Old One was still playing with me ticked me off.__

“Duck!” Radagast barked. I flattened myself to the cargo bed as something brushed by. A second later, an arrow plunked into a tree to our right. I twisted back around. How I wished I had Aleks and his handy-dandy rifle. Barring that, all I could do was…um…play. If this fabrication was based upon Middle Earth, the trees should be like those in Fangorn. Right? Maybe? 

_Quit dawdling and do it._

I homed in upon energy signatures, prodding my dryad form to materialize around me. Smooth as silk, human tan gave way to pale olive skin. Hands thinned, fingers lengthened. The brown and ginger locks that had been flopping in my face adopted deep green streaks, and the world around me glowed with energies so much more vibrant than when in my human guise. 

The sickness hit me with a punch, my innate sympathy for plants synchronizing me with the poor ailing woods surrounding us. It was worse than I’d expected. _Gah._ My belly roiled, churning and cramping. 

I forced myself to work through it. _Soon,_ I promised. When we were safe, I would try to help the poor plants here. They, I knew, were no illusion. I wouldn't leave them like this if I could help it. 

The sled vibrated after a painful impact, and I refocused upon the orcs, shaken to discover them almost on top of us. With a silent shriek, I yanked on those energy signatures with zero finesse, frantic for help. Whistling low in tree-talk, I pleaded for aid, attempting to waken the forest to our defense. 

So many were too sickly to respond, and at first, I thought we were on our own, until a few hardy souls picked up my plea and echoed it tree-by-tree via the soft rustling of leaves and the creak of boughs. Oh, was the response spotty, but it was there. Through the blurred, yellowed green auras whipping by, tiny beacons of brighter, emerald greens appeared. Sometimes alone. Sometimes in small clusters. 

Enough to make a difference? I dared to hope. 

The sled rocked as it hit stones, not enough to crumple the runners, but it brought me back to the here and now in time to see an arrow come flying towards my face. My heart stopped. Just…stopped. You’d think the terror of the night before would have inured me to staring death in the face, but, nope. No such luck. Like a deer watching the oncoming truck, I perched there, shocked stupid. 

Radagast’s staff whipped out at the last second, and the arrow slammed into it dead-center, joining at least four others already lodged there. My eyes felt as big saucers as they flew to the wizard in question. 

_Holy cow._

They slid past his shoulder, returning to our assailants. The orcs gained still more, individual features now visible, and what I read there was pretty much _kill, kill, kill._ One shouted an order (presumably in Black Speech) and two peeled off from the group to flank our position. 

That was when the last vestiges of Greenwood the Great - or this recreation of it - struck. Orcish screams filled the air as trees that had been nothing more than stationary scenery burst into motion. Branches swept down like giant clubs and smashed into the mounted riders. Bones snapped as bodies were launched into the trees’ canopies. They rained down seconds later, each hitting earth with dull, sickening thuds. 

In less than ten seconds, it was over. The trees rustled their success back to me, their energy dipping horribly yellow after the strain. 

“Stop the cart! Stop!” 

Radagast pulled us to a stop in a spray of dirt and desiccated leaves, and I jumped out, tote pinched beneath one arm. I made a beeline for the closest tree, desperate to halt the deterioration I was witnessing but uncertain if I could with the load of exhaustion weighing me down. 

I had to try. 

The tote hit the ground with a clink - what had Marcus put in there? - at the base of the tree. My fingers skimmed its trunk, sinking into the thin layer of goo coating it. 

At once, the illness churning my stomach intensified exponentially. I gagged but refused to let loose of the trunk. In the back of my mind, awareness of the immense expanse of these woods pressed in upon me. Oh, but this forest was ancient. Ancient and failing. Through thin runners underground, it was also connected. Not one organism per se, but not independent, either. What touched one tree, touched all. 

The revelation was dashed from my mind as a slight tingle began at my fingertips. The black static in this tree’s energy field reacted like angry white blood cells, and I was the virus they were swarming to eradicate. 

Black static fizzled around my fingers where my own energy mixed with the tree’s. It started with pinpricks of pain, nothing too alarming at first. But then, agonizing spasms contorted each muscle touched by the migrating black specks. My hands knotted beyond my control, severing my connection to the tree. 

I reeled back, hands cradled to my stomach. What was this horror? No mere disease afflicted these trees. This was something sinister. Directed. _Intelligent._

Radagast pounded his staff twice into the ground beside me. His head faced forward but his eyes slid my way. “Interesting,” he said. His head and shoulders followed his eyes. “Show me your hands, green-child.” 

Radagast. Faerie illusion or the real deal? A part of me swore he had to be legit. Somewhere in the midst of Mirkwood, with orcs and wargs breathing down our necks, my belief that this was Faerie wavered. Everything I sensed as a dryad confirmed what I saw. This wood was as sick as Mirkwood was reported to be. And that sickness felt an awful lot like shadow…and a certain non-corporeal bad guy. 

But that was the point about Faerie, wasn’t it? No flim-flam illusion had convinced that poor soul he was a bronzerider of Pern, had it? Every part of it had been perfect. Just like this. 

I thrust my hands out for his inspection, movements jerky. The black specks had inched past my wrists, leaking into my forearms. With them, the pain spread ever upward. As if in response, the cut on my upper arm flared with sudden intensity. 

Radagast’s hands hovered over mine, his head bent low as he muttered words too insubstantial for me to decipher. 

My attention returned to the tree I’d touched. It moaned and sighed in grief, detecting my plight, a song quickly adopted by its nearby fellows. In tree-speech, I whistled my own fears and determination to free us all from the black poison. 

“You speak with them,” Radagast said without lifting his head. 

I nodded, voice stolen as a new stab of pain hit the muscles roping around my elbows. _Whimper._ It felt as if the joints were being pulled apart. “Yes,” I managed to choke out after a long pause in which I struggled to breathe through the pain. Sweat popped out upon my forehead, and the balmy day assumed a definite chill. 

“You were injured by a Morgul blade,” Radagast informed me. 

“Fabulous,” I managed to say. “You have a great…” Grunt. “…bedside manner.” Pant. “Sure have a way with…reassuring your patients.” 

He moved from view though I could hear him puttering with something behind me. When he reappeared, he had a smudge-stick in hand. What the bundle of herbs might be, I hadn’t the foggiest. I couldn’t spare any of my attention to assess it. He heated one end of the herbs against the crown of his arrow-riddled staff and wafted the smoking herbs beneath my nose. 

It smelled like peace, its dominant note that of pine. The pain eased back a step - not dispelled, but restrained from running roughshod over me. My hands looked as sickly as the trees to my dryad sight. A yellow tint streaked through my verdant aura, and the black static reminded me of hungry, miniature locusts. 

“Can you heal this?” I asked the wizard, freaking out at what I saw. 

He hummed in the back of his throat. “The Morgul blade wound, I might have healed. What you have contracted from Mirkwood has interacted with that poison.” His pale hazel eyes hovered near mine, not quite making contact. The intelligence behind them once again struck me. “I will do what I can to aid your efforts, but I fear that ridding yourself of this illness is something only you can do.” 

Moi? _I_ was supposed to heal this? _Aleks!_ My frightened cry rang out without thought, instinctive, but it elicited no response. Maybe he was dead, then. Or the naiad twin bond that had once linked us was. The weight of the world settled upon my slender shoulders. _More like all one hundred five pounds of my own life._ I toed off my sneakers, letting my bare green toes test Mirkwood’s soil. 

_Alright._ Radagast’s smudge-stick had granted me time. Space. I prodded myself into action, unwilling to waste it. 

One step forward, and I reconnected with the tree. Its despair and frailty became my own, and the rest of the forest echoed the same refrain. Perhaps it was foolhardy of me to attempt this linked as I was, but I’d never been a solitary creature. I’d been one perforce after losing parents and brother in one fell swoop, but it wasn’t in my nature. If I was possibly going to die, I’d much rather go out fighting with a friend by my side. This tree, a sickly, weak grandfather of a tree that’d spent its strength so freely to try and save me, was the first - _only_ \- real friend I had in Middle Earth/Faerie other than its fellows. 

Pressing my forehead into the sticky muck on its trunk, I allowed my toes to elongate, branching deep into Mirkwood’s soil in search of what I needed. 

Instant, overwhelming pain. Radagast’s smoke prevented me from passing out, but it could not spare me from the clawing sensation as the thing behind the disease plaguing Mirkwood tried to rip its way into my mind. It had sensed me within this tangled web that killed the forest, and it desired to know what I was before it finished me. 

Radagast chanted behind me, and a thin film cut that intelligence from direct access to my mind. It howled and battered against that shielding, but it could not penetrate it. Not yet. 

_Hurry, hurry,_ I babbled to myself. If that was Sauron, I wasn’t sure Radagast could hold him off forever. If it was an Old One, same thing. 

I forced my toe-roots to expand faster. Deeper and deeper they plowed, tasting the depleted top layers of earth. From the trees themselves, I knew they and the rest of the plants had stripped the topsoil bare of any benefit at the onset of the shadow’s attack upon them. Desperate for the strength to fight back, they’d leeched every ounce of vitality from it. 

Understandable. A worthy attempt even. But without replenishing, a doomed venture. 

I dug deeper. 

All the while, I struggled to push the black beads of illness from myself and the tree both. I strained and shoved with mental fingers, feeling the way the specks of black evaded my thrusts and persisted in attempting to worm their way deeper, focusing more on me than the tree. _If Sauron can’t get me directly, he’ll do it this way._

A new, chilling thought. _What if he gains access to my mind? He’ll know what the future holds._ The Dol Guldur I’d experienced had to be before its cleansing during the events of _The Hobbit._

But Middle Earth wasn’t real. I sobbed once in absolute, confused frustration. Reality was blurring, and it was scarier than all the ghouls, all the orcs and wargs in Middle Earth. 

Biting my lower lip, I poured more of my own precious stores of energy into my efforts to ward off the black things. I did manage to slough off a sizable chunk of them by pure force of will alone, but it felt like they replenished as fast as I jettisoned them. Another attempt, this time trying to clear only the connection between me and the tree. I had no idea what I was doing. It felt like I could do this, but this was trial by fire. There was no learning curve. Succeed or die. 

That’s when I sensed it. Some other presence moved among the trees. Not Sauron - or whatever fae abomination it was directing this attack - but something golden. Its - no, _his_ \- energy was a glittering gold shot through with hot oranges and reds. His essence seemed to fill the entire wood, a background buzz I’d overlooked due to how pervasive it was - _he_ was. He touched every far reach of the forest. 

His essence flared. The noise my tree and I were making drew his full attention. With no hesitation, he zoomed towards us. 

A part of me tried to be frightened, but I was too consumed fighting off shadow-bits to have emotion to spare. He didn’t look bad, where the black static besieging me demonstrably was. What was the worst he could do? Push me over the edge? I was careening towards it already in every way possible. 

Golden light flowed across the underbrush and up my tree’s trunk, not visible to human sight but brilliant to dryad senses. Connection. His light reached the point at which my fingers met diseased bark. 

I felt _him._ What he was, who he was, I had no idea, but he was old and powerful. Ruthless in the defense of his lands. He’d fought this illness long and hard, but it had been a losing battle. Hope and interest flared through him as he found…me. 

He helped me to direct my energy with purpose. Under his guidance, I knotted and looped strands of my green essence into a net. Casting it above the tree’s canopy with our combined wills, I drew it down. Slow, the going was so slow. But the net worked. It held. It trapped every glimmer of black in its weave, pulling it along with it and leaving weakened but untainted tree in its wake. 

The net reached my level. I huddled closer to the tree, my skin tight against filth-covered bark. The net passed over my head and down over my chest. When it reached my arms, that black intelligence screamed with fury. 

faltered, the grating, nails-on-chalkboard sound destroying my concentration. 

_He_ saved the day, taking up the green strands and interweaving them with gold. Once he had a firmer grip, he continued tugging the net downward past my infected limbs. He never flinched, even when black pooled within the trunk and stabbed in his direction. Not a drop survived when it contacted his burning soul-stuff. He finished it, pulling the net past my feet and deep enough to cleanse the tree to its very roots. 

Now what, I wondered. The golden and green energy forming the net held, but what to do with the taint? 

_Now,_ he said, _I destroy it._ And in that place, it seemed the most natural thing to hear him as I did. 

In the next second, I understood why he said _I_ , for his energy flared and flames - real, scorching flames - burst into existence within the net. It was so hot, I yanked back in alarm, and our connection severed. Still, it burned, my contribution no longer required. He remained, searing the contents until ash trickled to the ground like gray snow. His glowing net faded. 

I collapsed to my knees. Without volition, my flesh reverted back to its human guise. My fingers dug into moldy leaves and twigs for stability, and I hung my head, gulping down huge gaps of air. 


	6. Two Kings

### Chapter 5

_No!_ I couldn’t collapse. Not yet. Not now. My body would have to wait. I had within reach a source to confirm the truth of my situation, be it Faerie or (unbelievably) Middle Earth. With the connection through the forest, he couldn’t lie to me.

I forced my eyelids to crack open, but a huge part of me wanted to weep, it desired sleep so. Lifting a shaking hand, I reached for the tree, but a brown robe materialized between us, blocking my access. At first, my brain couldn’t even compute what that impediment was, but then hands assisted me to my feet, where I weaved like a candle’s flame.

Those same hands, insistent though gentle, prodded me in the opposite direction. “Come, come.”

Oh yes. Fake Radagast. But…

I stared back at the tree. Hesitated. What if the being I’d encountered, he of the golden energy, was another Old One? My gait turned more wobbly, causing Radagast to frown in an abstract way and change his hold on me. The idea of that golden entity being an enemy made me want to curl into a ball. Another thought: _What if he IS a good guy and you betray him to the Old One running this illusion?_ That stopped me cold. I kept my lips zipped and let fake-Radagast coax me to sit by a cheery fire.

A fire? Had Radagast been making camp while I’d been fighting for my life? I shot him an incredulous look, but I don’t think he saw it. Shaking my head, I took a look around. My tote had been moved from its spot by the tree and now squatted like a lump next to me. A bedroll had been set out and—

Was that food?

I all but snatched the food from the wizard’s hands when he offered it, my stomach instantly making itself known. The food was hot, its warmth penetrating the wide, green frond that served as a plate. The instant that heavenly scent hit my nose, I began to shove mouthfuls of some sort of crispy, fire-seared vegetables into my mouth. Was that egg mixed in there? Who knew. It was divine, whatever it was.

We ate in silence. Radagast glanced at me every now and again, but for the most part, it was as if I wasn’t there now that he’d seen to my immediate needs. The barrage of questions I kept expecting never materialized. He had a keen mind - I’d seen that for myself, so it wasn’t that he was a lack-wit. With climbing disbelief, I had to acknowledge the truth: when they said he shunned the company of men, elves and dwarves in favor of animals, they weren’t joking. The man had serious gaps in his social-skills repertoire. It was like anyone not falling under the header animal or plant didn’t fully register on his radar.

And there I was again, acting like this was real! My earlier frustration returned with a vengeance. _I am going mad._ My weepy exhaustion vanished under a wave of righteous indignation. And did I ever have a target for it.

I discarded my leaf with more force than was necessary and gave the fake wizard a hard stare. If he didn’t have questions, _I_ did. “Why are you doing this?” Accusatory, angry words.

The wizard’s brows lifted, and his gaze touched me before moving away. “What is it I am doing, green-child?” His long, lean finger trailed down his ferret-friend’s flank. The animal squeaked, and he smiled in return.

_How dare he?_ “Pretend to be Radagast,” I said flatly, arms crossing before my chest.

That got his attention, though he looked at me in a distant, unfocused manner. “Pretend? My dear, I believe we already covered this ground. I _am_ Radagast the Brown. I told you my name, and I did not lie to you.” He returned to his ferret.

I felt a growl worthy of Marcus coming on. “This is bull!” I burst out. “All of this.” My hands waved, gesturing to encompass the world around us. “There _is_ no Middle Earth. It’s a _story._ There is no Aragorn, or Legolas, or Gandalf.” My throat grew tight, but I refused to let any tears fall. “Look, I know this is Faerie. That cat’s out of the bag. I know some Old One is probably playing with us both. But why are you cooperating? Why are you doing this to me?” I ended in a wail.

For maybe the second time since we’d met, his eyes fully landed upon me. Not the air before me, not some hazy half-focused glance that said I wasn’t really real _._ No, his hazel eyes clapped onto me with tangible intensity. He even shooed the ferret away.

“Old One?” he asked, those hazel eyes intent. How the guy could look so commanding and powerful with his scruffy hair and lopsided hat, I didn’t know. He just did. He was first and foremost a wizard.

_There I go again,_ I howled to myself, hands fisting in my hair. “It isn’t real,” I reminded myself. “Someone is playing with my mind. None of it is real.”

Thin, bony hands coaxed mine back to my lap, pressing them once before releasing them. A glimmer of kindness appeared in his eyes, and wonder of wonders, it was directed my way. “Tell me. Tell me about Faerie,” he said.

I resisted, struggling within myself. But then, the weight of it all exploded. The loneliness, the fear, it all combined within me until I couldn’t stand it anymore. The dam burst.

Long into the night, I babbled until my voice turned hoarse. Call it exhaustion, call it years with no one in which to confide mixed with the stress of the day. I unloaded everything to Radagast. He had to ask very few questions. I was too happy, too _hungry_ to speak to be able to censure what I said. I huddled near the fire wrapped in a cloak he loaned me, and told him what it was to be a naiad. How I was raised. I even - heaven help me - told him of Aleks, my chin wobbling like Jell-O the entire time.

Some instinct, however, held my tongue where it came to the future in Middle Earth and my golden-souled helper. Faerie or not, what if this guy believed he was in Middle Earth, too? What if he was a pawn? Could I really betray that powerful, ancient being who had reached across the vast forest to save my life? And as to the supposed future, what I had read in the books and witnessed in the movies _wouldn’t happen._ They couldn’t, for the main players did not exist here.

When the words trickled off, I swayed where I sat, so beyond tired that it was in another zip code. Released by the torrent of words, reality sank in. I kept thinking, _What have I done? “_ Radagast” was the most likely candidate for the Old One orchestrating all of this, and I’d vented to him? Bared my heart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Without a word, I picked up my bag, returned to the tree, and bedded down beside it. _Please be here. Please be here._ Hoping my actions would escape detection, I made like I was settling in for a long snooze, head on tote as a pillow, and finally let one hand oh-so-casually touch bark.

OoOoOo

Radagast rubbed Toby’s head as he watched the self-proclaimed naiad. She regretted her disclosures bitterly. He could read it in the way her olive-green eyes had shied from him at the end of her tale.

“Now, she acts like me,” he murmured in the language of ferrets, both amused and frustrated. Toby trilled in humor.

Such things he’d learned in the last twenty hours. Dol Guldur inhabited by an evil spirit. No, not just a spirit. For the army he’d witness to exist, a necromancer had claimed the old fortress. Claimed it and returned it to shadow.

And now, a naiad with tales of a place called Faerie. Radagast considered broaching the topic once more to assure her that Middle Earth did indeed exist. She was not trapped in illusion as she seemed bent upon believing.

Truth be told, he could understand her reasoning. Middle Earth was to her a child’s tale and nothing more. _Who is Aragorn, I wonder?_ The name Legolas he knew. That elf was the Elvenking’s second-born son. An archer of some note, if Radagast recalled correctly.

“Gandalf will know how to help her,” he continued in ferret-speak. Assuring young misses was not his strong suit. Give him a young lynx to coax to safety - that he could do. “Yes, Gandalf is the proper one to aid the lady.”

It fell in with his other plans nice and tidy, for he’d intended to deliver the pilfered blade to the other wizard as well. So. In the morning, he and the naiad would begin their hunt for Gandalf the Grey.

OoOoOo

_Are you there?_

My desperate call rang through the forest the instant my fingers connected with the rough flesh of a root.

Instantly, that golden aura reappeared. The mind behind it, keen and sober, met mine. _You vanished,_ he gently chided. _I was concerned._

A half laugh, half sob escaped me. Concerned? He was _concerned?_ I muffled a second sad snicker with the back of my free hand, feeling every inch the hysterical female. Exhaustion, I reassured myself. I was not cracking up.

_I am in so much trouble. I don’t think I’m going to survive this,_ I confessed. Faerie had terrified me from the night Aleks had first whispered stories of its horrors in my ear when we were six. To say I was not handling being dumped here was an understatement of Godzilla proportions.

_What do you face?_ The softness of the words could not hide the dangerous, threatening side that arose in him.

Wimped out as I was, it frightened me. The face he’d turned my way thus far had been polite enough. Kindly in its own way. Now, I was seeing another facet to him. Even though it was not directed my way, it was still silk with menace.

He must have picked up on my sudden distrust and fear, for he said, _You reside within my domain, child, and as such, you fall under my protection._ More gently, he added, _You have nothing to fear from me._

He meant it. Connected as we were, I could detect his sincerity.

I waffled, debating. I’d survived years on Earth flying solo with no one to trust fully. Or maybe, I admitted to myself for the first time, _unwilling_ to trust. The sad truth was that my isolation had been my own fault. A bitter pill to swallow.

Here in Faerie, I couldn’t go on like that. I _would_ crack. I had to have someone or something to count upon. One anchor in a world gone absolutely, terrifyingly bonkers.

A gamble, then. If I had to pick someone, would it be Radagast or this being? A no-brainer, really. I could not detect anything from Radagast. He might as well be a puppet some Old One was leading through its motions. This new person, whoever he was, could only be real _-_ I felt him through my link to the forest.

_You have to help me,_ I burst. I hadn’t let anyone see me cry in so long, yet my defenses were in worse shape than Dol Guldur. _You have to tell me the truth. I need to know the truth._

The weight of serious regard, a mind paying close, close attention to every nuance my words betrayed.

_He’s an Old One._ The thought popped into my head with all the accompanying distrust and dread. No. No, he couldn’t be. I refused to believe it. Surely I would detect the perverse, twisted nature of an Old One when linked this way.

Wouldn’t I?

_Trust him,_ I urged myself again privately. Oh, but it was hard. And frightening.

He chose his words with care. _While I am old, I have never been referred to as an “Old One.”_ Wry humor. _Though perhaps the term has been used by my sons in my absence._ Affection. Warmth. _There are many powers in this world older than I. I will aid you if I can. Ask your question._

Steadied by his obvious devotion to his children, I dared ask, _Where am I?_ Mild surprise flared from him, but I barreled on. _I woke up in these ruins I’ve been led to believe are Dol Guldur._ More surprise and a sharpening of interest. _Am I in Middle Earth? Because, let me tell you, if this is Faerie, I’m not sure I care if I lose it. These illusions are so convincing…_ I broke off with a ragged inhale. _Oh, please help me_ , I kept private. _Please, please, tell me the truth._ Tell me a truth I could deal with, another part of me begged.

What he thought of my words or plea, I didn’t quite know. The golden-tinged being held himself very still, his mind working at a feverish pitch. How I knew that, I can only point to the kind of silence emanating from him. It was rife with speculation.

His mind flared with decisiveness as he reached a verdict. Compassion stirred, bringing with it a deep anger. _Child, you are on Arda. This_ _ **is**_ _Middle Earth. I know not what Faerie might be, but if you can bring yourself to trust me, if you can trust what you detect from me, know this - you are not there._

For a heartbeat, I felt poised upon a knife’s edge, disbelief warring with absolute relief. Under his steady reassurance, conviction set in.

Relief won out. It poured off of me in waves. I broke down into messy, soppy tears. _Real._ I clutched at the tree, and it reacted, its branches wrapping around me, creating a woody embrace to hold me safe. If I’d not been without sleep for over thirty-six hours, I’d have stood a chance of hanging on to a shred of pride, but as it was, pride went out the window. Tears leaked down my cheeks, and I stuffed one fist to my mouth to stifle my cries.

_Real._ It settled in my bones.

I wasn’t floundering around in some dream, I was on Middle Earth. So hard to believe, but ultimately, it came down to two things. One, _he_ confirmed it, and two, I just couldn’t cope with the idea of Faerie. Demonstrably.

A delayed glimmer of awe. I was on Middle Earth _._ I could see the Shire. Gondor.

_Thank you,_ I whispered. For the first time since I’d awakened the day before in the ruins, I felt safe.

_What is Faerie?_

Of course he would ask that. My mind reviewed all I knew of him, and I began to harbor a suspicion. Powerful. Old. Considered these lands his. A father. Beorn, to my knowledge, never spoke to plants. Giant bees, yes. Roses, no. Plus, Beorn wasn’t that old, and he had no living offspring. Radagast – I craned my head around to seek him out – happily chattered away to his animal friends. That meant it wasn’t him.

Who else could it be but…?

_You are the Elvenking,_ I said with a bit of shock. I would never have associated the words _gentle_ or _compassionate_ to him, yet that is exactly what he’d exhibited upon our first encounter.

But that wasn’t all he was. Not with his reputation.

With timid curiosity, driven to reassure myself as doubts festered due to portrayals I’d read, I reached out, brushing my energy against his. More shocking, he allowed it, holding himself still for my inspection.

A mix of contradictions, the Elvenking. Authority and dignity radiated off of him. He was a king who had fought long and hard to protect his own, who _still_ fought hard to protect the people looking to him. I’d always believed Thranduil got a bum deal. I mean, Elrond had Vilya, Galadriel had… Oh what was the name? At the time, it escaped me. Regardless, she’d had another of the Rings of Power.

What did Thranduil have? Nothing, that’s what. Giant spiders, infested woods, a people driven to live underground in order to survive. As I inspected him, he did nothing to hide from me his penchant towards pride and arrogance. The Elvenking had a conniving streak, one I suspected had been honed into a weapon some time ago. That it was bent upon protecting his people was noble enough, but I got the distinct feeling it would not be a happy day to fall on the wrong side of that iron will of his. He had it in him to be both ruthless and cold.

Yet, a part of me really did trust him, cold, plotting side and all. Ludicrous, really - _me_ , who told myself I couldn’t trust anyone. Perhaps it was common ground. He loved these blighted woods and grieved for what had befallen them. Maybe it was that he’d rushed in like a knight in golden armor to save me. He hadn’t known a thing about me, but he’d intervened.

_You are not elf kind,_ he said as to a child, his voice soft and coaxing.

I hesitated. This was real. I was in Middle Earth. Dol Guldur wasn’t cleansed. Actually, Radagast had just discovered what dwelt there. Bilbo must have joined the Company of Thorin Oakenshield recently. The dwarves had begun their quest to reclaim Erebor. I knew what was going to happen. If the tales were accurate.

My eyes turned to the tree. I’m ashamed to admit I considered removing myself from its embrace, hiding from the Elvenking. What if I was wrong about him? What if his only interest in me was of my value to his people? A tool? He could _so_ do that - use someone. But that wasn’t what I sensed from him. He probably was fully aware of my usefulness, but it was tempered by concern. For whatever reason, he was turning a kinder face my way instead of the severe Elvenking of lore.

Why? Right then, I didn’t care. I needed an advocate, and having a protector like him sounded pretty good to me. The problem was that I didn’t know what I could or should tell him. How much was it safe to share?

_Child?_

I searched for something to say. I didn’t know what to do _. I’m frightened,_ I admitted.

_You are in danger?_ He felt distracted briefly, as if he communicated with someone else. _Are you alone?_

My eyes again traveled to the wizard. _No,_ I assured. What if Thranduil sent his troops here to collect me? What if I spilled all sorts of beans before I’d had time to really think of the ramifications?

A fleeting side thought: _Grr! I’ll be too old for Boromir._ Of all the rotten luck. I ended up in the world I most longed to be but two generations too early. Bah humbug.

_Who is Boromir?_

And I really needed to be careful with what I thought here. I knew it, really I did, but instead this contrary part of me staged a coup and seized control of my tongue. Before my brain could catch up, I was babbling: _I’mnotfromMiddleEarth, I’manaiad, andIdon’tbelongtothisworld, butIwassomehowtransportedtoDolGuldur, andI’mnotalone, I’mwithRadagast, butmytwinwassupposedtobewithme…_

_Stop._

I stopped.

_You are not of Middle Earth?_

Given I’d flat-out said as much twice, I supposed it was not shocking that he zeroed in on that. _No._

_You are a…naiad?_ It sounded like he was testing the word.

_Yes._ Then for clarity, _More specifically, a dryad. We are linked to growing things._

_So I sense. You are with the Istari, Radagast the Brown?_

I exhaled, sinking deeper into the tree’s cocooning arms. Every part of my body ached, from thighs and calves forced to do far more than they were accustomed, to shoulders and back muscles that had been clenched tight for too long. My heart and mind felt scraped raw and bloody. _He rescued me from Dol Guldur,_ I told him.

The Elvenking was going to ask me something more, I could detect it in his essence, but he stopped himself, assessing me swiftly. _Tell the wizard to bring you to me. I would speak with him._ _Sleep, child. We will talk again._

Before he’d begun to withdraw, I was out like a light.

OoOoOo

As the Elvenking allowed the deep awareness of his forest to fade to its habitual, ever-present low hum in the back of his mind, he once more felt his body seated upon his living, wooden throne. Before him, dozens of eyes stared up in respectful silence. Though such instances of their king withdrawing to tend to their woods was of necessity rare, they well knew the signs.

His mind whirled, and for the moment, he ignored his audience. They would await his pleasure. His youngest son and seneschal would see to that.

_Naiad._ Plans and hope raced through his mind. Had she any notion how desperately the elves here needed her? No, how could she? As unbelievable as it sounded, he knew her words to be true. In his long centuries, he’d encountered each of the free peoples many a time. She did not belong to any of them - not man, dwarf, or even a reclusive hobbit.

The last hope he’d had to purge the sickness from his beloved Greenwood the Great had been destroyed by a dwarf consumed by the cursed greed so common to the heartless people. He could not allow this hope to be stolen away as well.

_I will not use you, little dryad,_ he promised the image of her his mind provided. A decision. A commitment. He would have her aid, but he would give her all he could in return. That wounded soul would find among the Woodland Elves a shelter. Kindness and affection. A family. A boundless yearning for just that had underscored her every thought, though he did not believe she was aware of betraying her wounded state.

But requesting that any of his elves bring her into their affections was asking a great sacrifice. She was mortal _._ Any daring to care for such a one would grieve for a span of time much longer than the mortal would live. It was a fact.

He tapped his thumb across the smooth bark of the tree he sat upon, a tree that had been his companion for many centuries. _Something she will understand._ A kindred spirit, she had, though it was wrapped in mortal trappings.

Giving her into the keeping of one of his nobles did not sit well with him. He reviewed options, quickly discarding any that did not give him direct access and the right to protect and oversee the naiad’s well-being. There was only one conclusion. _So be it._

At long last, he turned to his silver-haired son standing so silently at the foot of the dais. “Prince Caranoran,” he said with utmost formality.

His son’s eyes flared, but he immediately bowed deeply. “My king.”

Thranduil inclined his head, locking eyes with his youngest. “Prepare a new chamber within the Royal Wing,” he instructed. “You are gaining a foster sister.”

The shocked silence that permeated the hall as he stood and retreated from the room pleased him. He paused upon the threshold.

“And Prince?”

“My lord?”

“Have the Elven Guard alerted. Radagast the Brown will be heading our way with a young charge. I desire them to be escorted to me with all haste.”

“Yes, _Adar.”_

OoOoOo

Aleks dodged the blow that looked capable of removing his head from his shoulders. His hair rustled as it passed overhead.

_Too close._ Frustration caused him to growl. He kept making the same mistakes, and it was enough to drive him wild with impatience.

Dwalin’s ax continued upon its trajectory, swooping over the bald dwarf’s head to slam downward right where Aleks stood. Aleks lost his grip on his borrowed sword and tripped over his feet getting clear. He crashed down on hard earth with a brilliant display of flailing limbs. Before he could recover, Dwalin’s ax pressed to his exposed throat.

“Dead,” Thorin declared from the sidelines.

Dead _._ They’d been at this for hours with the same result as the first go-round. He was incensed with himself. He could do this, he knew he could. He bristled with sour humiliation, scowling at the dwarves witnessing yet another failure. It was all he could do to refrain from shifting to satyr and punching a tree or two.

If he couldn’t fight, would they let him stay with them?

“I do not believe, Aleks, that the sword is your weapon.”

Aleks bit back angry words, chest heaving. The King Under the Mountain – Aleks didn’t care if his home had yet to be reclaimed, Thorin was a king and always would be to him – arched one brow and stood, dusting his hands against each other.

“But mark my words, young naiad. To master any weapon requires patience. You are too easily roused to anger. Too quick to lose focus in offense. The sword is not mastered in a handful of hours, yet you seem to believe you should be able to defeat Dwalin, a dwarf who has wielded the ax for more years than you have lived.” A look from beneath lowered brows. “If you grow frustrated every time something does not come easily, you will never gain anything of real value.”

Aleks hung his head, hiding his mulish expression as he seethed inside. Finally, he nodded, admitting to himself the king had a point, but he was not happy to have it discussed so publicly.

Aleks had very quickly come to desire Thorin’s good opinion. He was the older brother Aleks had longed for his entire life, a man he could respect and follow. He wished to gain Thorin’s approval, even as a part of him fumed at himself for such a weakness. _Why should I care what a bunch of dwarves think?_ Yet, there it was. Something in him yearned for the camaraderie he witnessed among them and wanted nothing more than to be a part of it.

Thorin clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll try you on the bow tomorrow.”

Wait. He wasn’t giving up on him?

“You show promise. Agility and speed. We need only leash that temper of yours and match you to a more suitable weapon.” A small, brief smile. “Don’t be so quick to lose heart.”

“Aye, you should have seen Kíli’s first attempts with the sword,” Thorin’s blond-haired nephew said with a wide grin and a chuckle. With his braided mustache and hair, Fíli looked to Aleks the capable warrior. Younger than most of the dwarves, but no child.

Kíli snorted, shoveling his meal into his mouth with a roll of the eye. With dark hair and only the scruffy beginnings of a beard, he exuded a youthful enthusiasm for everything. _Definitely the younger brother,_ Aleks thought. Kíli chewed a couple times before making his own contribution. “Fíli was worse with the bow.”

The blond heir scowled at his younger brother, laughter dancing in his eyes. “That’s not true. It’s a vicious rumor.”

“Never heard of rumors sending a dwarf to the healers with an arrow in his bum,” Bofur drawled, gesturing with his pipe. The pipe altered direction and pointed at Aleks in emphasis. “Never saw such a sorry sight in my life. There was the pride of Durin’s line, arse-upwards with--”

Bofur ducked as Fíli launched his emptied plate at his head like a Frisbee. The dwarves laughed and pounded fists on their knees, all in high humor.

Aleks turned towards their cook. His let go of his hurt pride enough to thank Bombur, the overweight dark-haired dwarf, as he passed him his meal. Clearing his throat, Aleks offered to take Dwalin’s to him.

“Much obliged,” Bombur said with good cheer.

Aleks headed to find his instructor. He’d not been fair to him. Dwalin hadn’t been required to help him out, and Aleks felt the pinch of remorse for not thanking the bald dwarf properly before. “Thank you, Master Dwalin,” Aleks said as he handed him the food.

The dwarf in question grunted, bobbed his head, and tucked into his meal.

_Okay then._ He turned around, leaving the dwarf to his own company. It didn’t take a genius to notice that Dwalin was not the most gregarious of the bunch. Scanning the party, Aleks hesitantly accepted Fíli’s offer to join him and Kíli. Folding his legs, he sat to the heir’s right.

“Tell me about those werewolves again,” Fíli said, lips twitching as he prepared his pipe.

Kíli leaned forward. “You were having one over on us, weren’t you.” His tone made it a statement, not a question. To his brother, “I told you it was a joke.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” Fíli countered.

“It had to be. Men turning into giant wolves? It’s a children’s tale.”

“It’s not a tale,” Aleks interrupted with a snort.

“It has to be a tale,” Kíli insisted.

“Kíli,” Thorin interjected. He looked stern enough, but Aleks was positive he detected a trace of humor running through those gray eyes.

“It’s not a tale,” Aleks repeated, his smile growing at Kíli’s discomfiture.

Kíli shook his head in disbelief. “And these werewolves raised you and your sister?”

“I have no sister.” The smile vanished, his words turning wooden.

 

OoOoOoO

Thorin watched Fíli slap Kíli’s arm in censure as the naiad lad retreat into himself. The walls rose, and the gates slammed shut. They’d get nothing more from Aleks this day.

They’d seen this happen a handful of times now, anytime mention was made of a sister. Many of his dwarves cast speculative glances the naiad’s way, but Aleks saw none of it, too engrossed in his own thoughts to note such things.

“That anger will get him killed,” Gandalf murmured from his left. “Or drive him into actions he will later regret.”

Thorin grunted, noncommittal. Likely Gandalf was correct, but until he knew the facts, he would not cast judgment upon the young boy. The naiad was young, not yet an adult though he protested if anyone insinuated as much. In the meantime, Aleks had already proved an asset this day, hunting game as they journeyed, thereby sparing them the effort and hassle of doing so later. One day, he would be an able warrior. Thorin had not lied to the lad. The potential was there.

Bofur caught his eye. A question. Thorin dipped his head in a silent affirmative. The other dwarf would keep a keen eye on their naiad.

Thorin trusted his judgment. Most dismissed the toymaker as a buffoon too silly to be taken seriously. Their mistake. An irreverent sense of humor he had, to be sure, but he saw more than most. If any intervention was needed, Bofur might be able to ferret out the clue to allow Thorin to do so without driving the lad away.

Thorin sighed, stamping out the glowing embers of his own pipe. He’d spend what time he could with the lad. It hadn’t escaped his notice how Aleks responded to him as opposed to the others. Hungry eyes, he had. A child left without a father far too young and still desperate for approval and guidance.

What was wrong with the naiad’s people that they left orphans so untended? When Dís’s husband had died, Thorin had stepped in without hesitation, as had Dwalin. He loved Fíli and Kíli as if they were his own sons. He couldn’t be prouder of the adults they were becoming.

No matter. An orphan was an orphan, and while it was not customary for dwarves to take on the orphans of other peoples, Aleks was a special case. There were no other naiads in Middle Earth to step in.

He pawed at his face, weary. Erebor called. Little did he need another young one looking to him for guidance, but it was not in him to back down from what needed doing. If Aleks needed guidance and a sense of family, the dwarves would see it done.


	7. Bears Bearing Gifts

### Chapter 6

“It is past time to awaken.”

“Ag grmfl mrffl.” I buried my head deeper into the notch of my arm.

“Wake,” a voice insisted.

_Wha…?_ A familiar staff swam into view, aiming for rump above where my left leg dangled from the edge of my hammock of branches and twigs. I yelped and jumped from my perch. Only the tree’s quick catch preventing me from toppling to the ground.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” I hollered, dangling there and glaring down at the smirking wizard.

“Good. You are awake. Gather your things, Mistress Hunt. We are leaving.” Radagast hastened to his sled making the most peculiar noises in the back of his throat. Eight Rhosgobel rabbit heads popped up like prairie dogs, their ears extended and panned his way.

The tree held me about my waist a good ten feet of the ground. Its energy, I was gratified to note, looked infinitely healthier than the night before. Emerald green flowed along its surface with vitality. Little of the telltale yellow remained.

_Thank you,_ I whistled in tree-speech.

The redwood’s leaves sighed with happiness.

At least someone was happy. For myself, the events of the night before were smacking me in the face. What had I been _thinking?_ Sharing with Radagast? Splitting a vein for him? It was mortifying to remember in the – quick glance towards the dark, canopy-choked sky – dubious light of day. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, a pool of dread collecting in my gut.

_What were you thinking, Daphne? You know better than confide in people._ My _amma’s_ face flashed through my mind’s eye in indictment.

And then Thranduil. I buried my head in my hands. What had I been thinking? Like I was with it enough to judge his character the day before. If he could fill the immense expanse of Mirkwood with his power, fooling me would be child’s play.

_Don’t do this,_ a small voice chimed in, but I thrust it aside. I’d suspend judgment on Thandruil based upon what I thought I’d detected from him, but anyone else was out. I knew better than to trust until trust was earned. From here on out, I’d be more careful.

_No one will accept you._ I closed my eyes tight, pressing fingers into the corners. Would that voice never leave me be? It plagued me, sounding exactly like Aleks.

_Stop it,_ I told myself. _Just stop._

The redwood set me down at my request. I patted it, my gaze finding Radagast. The wizard harnessed his rabbits to the sled with gentle words and affectionate scratches behind their ears. Maybe he had the right of it. Better to trust the animals than people. Animals acted true to their nature. They didn’t dish out betrayal and insults.

_My fault._

With years of experience, I snuffed out that voice, too, and grabbed my tote. I retrieved a bottle of water and an energy bar from inside. Munching, I reviewed my options.

I’d promised the Elvenking that I would relay his message. I saw no harm in that, so I’d pass it along – minus the tidbit about being delivered to his doorstep. Other than that, the only pressing item on my agenda was to cleanse the other trees that had risen to my defense. I still didn’t like how a few of them looked.

If I did that, I’d probably run into the Elvenking’s essence again. That brilliant, concentrated glow was missing, so I suspected he was busy with something else, but if I began messing with the trees, he’d surely know. Was I ready for another encounter?

_Am I really such a coward that I’d let the trees suffer just so that I could avoid an uncomfortable situation?_ Ouch. I winced as I scored a direct hit against myself. Plus, how smart was it to try to cleanse one without Thranduil’s supervision? Was I even remotely ready for that?

“Come, come. We must away.”

Well, he must. Thranduil’s orders aside, I was not ready to leave. Careful to keep my mask in place, I gave him blank eyes. “I cannot leave.” Calm, even voice.

Radagast halted from his bustling busyness to shoot a sharp hazel look my way, though they didn’t (of course) really land on me. Shrewd eyes assessed. Measured. Decided. “We are fortunate no additional orcs or wargs have found us as of yet. The party that pursued us will be missed. More will come in search of answers.”

My hands found my elbows, and I hugged myself against a sudden brush of fear. The trees couldn’t defend me again. Not easily and not without a higher price tag.

OoOoOo

Radagast sighed to himself, noting the way her face closed down. Her body language betrayed her, but it was clear she was not cognizant of the fact. With one hand on his staff, he considered his options.

He couldn’t leave her here. The naiad was unique. The Valar alone knew how she had arrived in Dol Guldur, but Radagast was convinced if the Valar had not permitted it, she wouldn’t have arrived on Middle Earth at all.

Did she persist in believing she was in Faerie? It seemed likely.

So be it. He must get her to Gandalf. The other wizard would know what to do. Saruman was an option as well, but with the Morgul blade hanging heavy within his robes, Radagast knew Gandalf the only reasonable choice. Gandalf would heed his warnings about the southern, abandoned fortress. Saruman would not. Filled with animosity and disdain for him, Saruman would dismiss the information solely based upon its source.

He could waste no time. Both driving needs would be satisfied with one answer: Gandalf.

“The trees must wait,” he told the naiad, at once awkward with trying to comfort her and sorrowful on her behalf. He, too, loved nature. Her link to the living things was strong. Where she closed herself off from people, the plants held her heart. “I must find Gandalf.”

That smooth, expressionless face didn’t change by so much as a flicker of those almond-shaped green eyes. Wind tousled her choppy brown locks, yet she ignored it, for all the world unmoved. _Ah, child, do not lock yourself inside so._

“Come. Let us away.”

She didn’t move.

They wasted time, time Middle Earth could not spare. He drew himself up and let his power flow around him like a cloak, darkening the sky and turning his voice thunderous. “I say we must away. Into the sled, Mistress Hunt.”

“But…” Small, her voice. And that unmoving expression cracked, revealing doubt and fear.

He hardened himself. _“Into the sled.”_

OoOoOo

The jerk had used intimidation.

I huffed to myself as the rabbits pulled us down deer paths at a break-neck speed, Mirkwood rushing by in a dark, sickly-yellow blur. Worse, I’d fallen for it. The guy who went all goo-goo eyed at an injured animal would not strike down an unarmed woman, I didn’t think. Yet, when he’d used _that_ voice, I’d jumped.

I hadn’t known he had it in him. Gandalf, yes. But Radagast? Made me wonder if the Blue Wizards had it as well. Was it an all-purpose wizard voice? A tool to keep the rest of us in check?

I mentally stuck out my tongue at myself.

OoOoOo

But for potty breaks, we didn’t stop for _two stinking days_. How, I ask, can rabbits possess the stamina of a hardened Marine?

The first twelve hours, I was impressed. But after a disjointed night of sleep in the moving sled, it turned into a kind of awe-filled horror. The freakish things showed no sign of tiring. How creepy was that? Every time I glanced at them thereafter, all I could hear in the back of my mind was, _They keep going, and going, and going…_

My grumpy train of thought was derailed as a piggy-bank sized bee zoomed up to me and hovered by my nose, buzzing. Blank antennae tasted the air between us, and the bee landed on my face. Given its size, I didn’t argue. I waited, playing statue as it crawled over my head, its fuzzy body vibrating. It peeled off and orbited around me.

“You confuse them,” a strange voice proclaimed.

I jumped out of my skin. Hand pressed to chest, I turned wide eyes to find… _Beorn._ Who else could it be? Huge bees. A giant of a man with black, shaggy hair and a lush black beard. One look and my tired brain burst into song, singing _The Lumberjack Song._

A hysterical giggle attempted to worm its way past my throat, and I coughed twice, trying to swallow it back. The good news was that my blank face didn’t budge. He’d have no clue he gave me the giggles.

“What are you?” Beorn asked in his velvety bass voice.

Mama mia, was the man’s voice devastatingly appealing. Seven-foot-something men did nothing for me, but that _voice._ Yowza.

“Does she not speak?” Those dark eyes swiveled to my right.

Radagast snorted and walked into view. “Oh, she speaks. I believe she is convincing herself that _you_ do not exist, either.”

_Grumble, grumble._ My mask slipped, allowing a short glare out. “I speak,” I said calmly, returning to the skin-changer as I maneuvered my stiff body out of the cargo bed. My limbs were numb from remaining trapped in one position for too long. I tripped over nothing, hurling myself at Beorn’s feet.

Or rather, I would have if he hadn’t quickly reached out and caught me. “Does she walk?” he asked next, a note of dry humor entering his tone.

I almost scowled at him. _Don’t reveal. Emotions are a weapon. Don’t give him one._ The thought did occur that this was Beorn _._ I was in _Middle Earth_. If I couldn’t open up to people here, where could I? The moon?

_The moon’s empty, Daph,_ a part of me chided.

_Oh, shut up._

His head dipped, and he stared at me from beneath lowered brows. A hank of hair found its way into my mouth. “What,” he finally repeated, “are you?” He bent forward at the waist, leaned in close, and inhaled. “Maple?” He straightened with bushy brows high.

Radagast’s staff thumped on the ground a couple times. “Maple?”

“She smells of maple,” the skin-changer explained.

That quick, I had two very curious pairs of eyes upon me. What, like I wanted to admit I was odder than they thought? That I sweat maple crystals instead of normal salt?

When I didn’t answer, Beorn frowned, his gaze flicking to Radagast. “I am real,” he said, the words laced with the beginnings of impatience.

“I realize that,” I said in an even tone.

Another snort from Radagast. “It seems, my friend, that you outrank me in Mistress Hunt’s estimation.”

“He doesn’t--” I tried, only to be cut off.

“She does not believe you to be real?” Disbelief. A perplexed expression that traveled from Radagast to me.

“No, she does not.”

Hold up. Why was Radagast talking to Beorn like he existed? _Probably because he becomes a bear._

“Why do you not believe the Brown Wizard real?” Another sideways glance to the wizard. “Is she touched?”

I felt my composure slipping. Self-directed anger flared. What, like I needed another lesson on why it was better not to be vulnerable around others? _You always mess things up. Don’t go thinking anything is going to change about that just because you are in a new world._ My lips compressed. I tried to ignore that voice. How sad was it that even separated from my twin, Aleks haunted me?

Guilt. I hadn’t thought of him in days. What did that say about me? I decided I really didn’t want to know.

“If you would, my friend,” Radagast said with all the manners of a courtly lord, “I must check on my animal friends at Rhosgobel before we venture into the Misty Mountains. Please watch over the naiad. She will need provisions and warmer attire.”

Wait. What? He was leaving me? After miles of me haranguing him, begging to be left behind as well as delivering Thranduil’s message, _now_ he was going to leave me?

My eyes flew from the men to the distant outline of Mirkwood.

“Please, keep her _here.”_

I almost gave myself whiplash, my head spun towards the wizard so fast. “Radagast…”

“Oh, so I’m Radagast again?” he drawled.

Who was this guy, and what had he done with the Brown Wizard? That’s what I wanted to know. “Thranduil--”

“The Elvenking,” he corrected.

Bah! Fine. “The Elvenking,” I stressed, “wished to speak with you.”

His rowan staff thumped against the grassy ground. “You have yet to explain how it is possible that he gave you such a message.”

Nor would I. I’d never heard of Thranduil – excuse me, _the Elvenking_ – having such a power over his forest. If it was a secret he chose to keep, they could double dip me before I’d spill the beans. My arms folded before my chest, and my chin lifted a notch.

A significant look passed between the men, one in which Beorn’s messy brows rose, Radagast nodded, and Beorn donned an _ah-ha_ expression. What was that, a secret man-code or something?

“I will watch over her,” Beorn said with finality.

Radagast beamed at him and scurried to his sled. I hastily snatched my tote from the cargo area. “Radagast, really, I should stay near Mirkwood.”

Sharp hazel eyes speared the area before me. “You will accompany me upon my journey.”

I felt a whine welling up. “Why?”

A satisfied smirk. “I have my reasons. Farewell until the morning, green-child.” Without further ado, he left.

OoOoOo

Beorn had animals as servants. Stepping inside the darker confines of his cabin, I paused upon sighting an upright gray dog setting the table. The mutt flicked his years in some silent communication.

Beorn said, “Thank you, Jasper.”

The dog padded from the room, still on two legs.

I was led to a tall seat at the table and hefted up on it without a word.

“Thank you,” I managed to say, feeling awe-struck as I looked around. A white mare clopped her way to us and deposited a domed platter. A sheep added a honey jar beside it. Still another dog provided a bowl full of fragrant fruit. I thanked them lowly, craning my head around to watch as they filed out a side door. As Orphan Annie would have said, _Leaping lizards._

Beorn served up warm, fresh bread and nudged the honey and butter dish my way. I sighed upon spotting the metal spoon and knife and reached into my jeans pocket, pulling out a pair of yellow, wrist-length gloves.

“Why did you do that?” he asked as I claimed the knife and slathered creamy butter on my bread. “What _are_ you? _”_ he pressed again.

“I’m a naiad,” I said around a mouthful of scrumptious bread, my taste buds exulting in the divine flavor. My legs kicked beneath me from my oversized chair as I hummed in pleasure.

He finished chewing his own bite, his beard moving in tandem with his jaw. Then, he planted elbows on the table. One brow lifted in a clear question. When I failed to respond, that brow wriggled like a worm on a hook, amusement creeping over his face.

I bit back a chuckle.

“Why do you do that?” he asked.

Now what? “What?” I asked as I sawed off another slice of bread.

One large finger turned my chin towards him, and then both humongous hands bracketed my face. The thumbs pressed into the corners of my lips and prodded them upwards. “You _can_ smile,” he murmured as if to himself but clearly teasing me. “Your face did not break.”

Funny.

“Is it against your beliefs?”

“Yes, it is,” I pounced. “We naiads believe our god…er… _Santa_ …will come down in his sleigh and curse us with coal if we smile or laugh. It is forbidden.” All said flatly, though inwardly I struggled not to burst into laughter.

He gave me bland eyes, his hands returning to his own piece of bread, tearing a section off. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

Somehow, I got the impression he didn’t believe me.

OoOoOo

The next morning arrived with a vengeance. I moaned and held my head, my tongue fuzzy and dry. I swallowed down two pain killer pellets as I followed Radagast back to his sled.

_What happened last night?_ I remembered sitting by a warm fire, curled up in an upholstered chair in Beorn’s den. I’d fallen asleep only to rouse shortly thereafter from a terrifying nightmare. After that, I’d decided not to sleep again. Ever.

Beorn had offered me something sweet and spicy to drink, saying it would soothe my nerves, then… nothing.

My head whipped up - my skull pounding at the sudden movement - and I felt panic seize me by the throat. He’d gotten me drunk _._ Blurry memory returned. I’d gulped down cup after cup of whatever it was he’d plied me with, and all the while, we’d spoken.

_What did I tell him?_ Chills raced down my body, pebbling my flesh. _What did I TELL him?_

When Beorn intercepted us at the sled for farewells, I hauled back and threw a punch his way. He was agile and easily dodged my throw, capturing me instead in his big arms with my back pressed to his chest. There, he held me, refusing to let loose.

“Easy, now, Little Sister.”

The term gutted me, but I refused to cry or let any tears darken my sight. _Never let them see you cry._ My promise. Never mind my slip with Thranduil. It wouldn’t happen again.

“You needed the peace,” Beorn said softly. “Do not be angry that I plied you with nalewka. I have found it eases both the heart and mind.” Then he told me, “You will always be welcome here, little dryad. Remember that. Should you need me, send word and I will come.”

My anger at him faded at the ring of sincerity in his words, leaving my robbed of any defense against his kindness.

“Are you listening?” he asked.

All I could do was bob my head. (When, exactly, had I become such a basket case?) Try as I might, I could not remember the last time I’d been held. Not with any clarity. Marcus and Nancy had provided for physical needs such as food and shelter, but they’d never hugged us if we cried, never mopped up tears or patted our hands if we skinned our knees. None of their Pack had, either. We weren’t like them. They tolerated us, but nothing more.

And here was this skin-changer, holding me like I mattered. _He’s just being nice,_ a part of me said, a part that hardened itself against him in response.

I bobbed my head again, the only answer I could give.

Beorn grunted in the back of his throat. “Hear me, Little Sister,” and his grip on me tightened as I flinched, “You are not a monster. Nor are you cursed or unlovable. Do not close yourself away so.”

This from a man who lived in isolation? _Not fair,_ I berated myself. He wouldn’t be isolated much longer.

“You do not want to live the whole of your life alone,” he continued, his chin coming to rest upon the crown of my head. _What,_ I asked myself again, _did I tell him?_ “The Valar brought you here. Trust that they did not do so to leave you abandoned.”

Another flinch.

A soft kiss upon my forehead, one that astounded me. I gaped at him, my face so far out of my control that I knew every ounce of fear and grief was painted there for all to see. I resented the snot out of it. Resented feeling so vulnerable and for _being_ so vulnerable.

“Go now.”

With his donated woolen cloak and tunic on my body as well as blankets added to the sled, we left.

The memory of his strong embrace lingered.


	8. Curly, Moe, and Larry. In Loincloths

### Chapter 7

Aleks had never been so contented. A week had passed in the dwarves’ company. A week of camaraderie, shared jokes, and laughter. Each evening as the others established camp, young Kíli would set up a target and take him through the basics of handling a bow.

It turned out, Thorin was right – the bow suited him much better than the sword. From the get-go, Aleks exulted in the pull of the longbow, finding some primal satisfaction in the strength required to pull back the bowstring. The belly of the bow gleamed a burnished amber, the wood worn smooth by the touch of many fingers. It lent the feeling of continuity, that he was following in the footsteps of countless dwarves before him. Dwarves of honor and valor.

_Overactive imagination, more like,_ he admitted to himself with a touch of amusement. Still, he rather liked the notion. Unstringing the bow, he returned it to Kíli’s care at the end of his lesson. Retracing his steps to camp, he waved to Fíli where he sat guarding the ponies. Fíli nodded in return, his attention more on something his younger brother had said as he joined him.

Aleks gathered his knife and paracord. With a look around, he untied and toed off his boots. It was dark, but as a satyr, he saw well enough to set some snares. He didn’t feel ready to rest yet, so why not take advantage of the energy coursing through his veins? With a respectful, two-fingered salute to Thorin, he trotted from camp. Soon the crackling campfire light faded behind him.

He totally loved this. Breathing deeply, his gaze skimmed over the glowing signatures of dozens of small animals. Rodents. Chipmunks. Even some dwarf owls. (He sniggered to himself.) Choosing a spot near a rabbit’s burrow and a wild turkey’s nest, he set to work, cutting and looping the cord into a snare. With luck, it would provide breakfast with enough left over for the next night’s dinner.

He wandered long into the night, simply enjoying the freedom to do so. He’d often done as much back home. The long days of travel had made such solo forays too much effort. This night, however, he rectified the lack he had begun to feel. He enjoyed the dwarves and didn’t wish to leave the Company, but he was not used to being surrounded by people – much less talkative, _boisterous_ people - twenty-four hours a day.

At last, fatigue convinced him to call it a night. As it stood, he’d get little sleep before the troop packed up and set out once more. He returned to the campsite, checking his snares along the way. The single, plump rabbit should make a good breakfast. Aleks rotated his shoulders and allowed his human shape to return. The cool ground felt good against his bare toes as he broke into a quiet, jaunty whistle.

When he reached camp, his steps froze.

Empty. His whirled around, a sense of loss clenching his heart hard. Then his brain caught up. No, they’d not left him behind. Their bedrolls and much of their gear remained situated around the fire. Food yet burbled within the kettle, and Bombur’s cooking utensils lay upon a rock to one side.

Dread. Something had happened. He dropped his kill by the fire. Without a second thought, he collected his Ruger 10/22, throwing it over his shoulder. Next, his Glock and its ankle holster were strapped into place, his pant leg lowered to conceal it. No need for awkward explanations if the dwarves were okay.

_They’re not okay. They’d be here if everything was fine._

He thrust a fistful of ammo for the Ruger in his pocket and set out at a jog, his gaze fixed upon the ground and the tracks it held. As he passed the makeshift animal pen, he frowned. _Some of the ponies are missing._ Had the Company been raided? Were there raiders and bandits here? Just beyond the enclosure, a tree looked to have been snapped near its base.

What could do that?

Loading the Ruger on the run, a few precious bullets falling from his fumbling hands, he dashed between trees, scanning furiously for a familiar set of energy signatures.

Aleks spotted them the same time another fire came into view. He slowed, slinking closer. In the snapping firelight, three gigantic creatures came into view. _Hello._ What were these guys? Ugly features, gruff voices, rags for clothes. And..loincloths?

Aleks stiffened when he heard a voice cry out. Keeping in the deeper shadows, he hurried nearer and found his friends.

_Where are you, Gandalf?_

Four of Aleks’s companions were tied to a spit being turned over the fire by one of the creatures. The others had been tossed to the side, tied up in burlap sacks. Struggle as many did, their bonds appeared tight. The knots held.

A Ruger was fine for small game. It could even take down a deer if the hunter was accurate and judicious with his shot. But a creature this size? And there were _three_ of them.

He’d have to lead them away from the dwarves. But first, he’d ensure the dwarves had the assistance they needed to win free of their bonds. Backtracking with slow steps, Aleks retreated, his eyes seeking the help he needed.

“No wait! You are making a terrible mistake!” he heard the hobbit cry out.

Aleks’s steps halted. He dared not breathe as he listened with every fiber of his being, ready to race back in the open if need be to save his friends.

“You can’t reason with them,” Dori called out. “They’re half-wits!”

“Half-wits? What does that make us?”

Aleks snorted at Bofur’s sally. If he was still joking, Aleks had time yet to pull a rat – or three or four – from his hat. He sprinted away, eyes peeled for what he needed.

“I meant with the…uh, with the…the seasoning,” Bilbo continued, his voice muffled from distance.

_Delaying,_ Aleks decided. Rather brave, and not entirely expected from the smaller, older man.

“What about the seasoning?” one of the creatures asked.

Aleks tuned him out upon finding what he’d been searching for. Falling to his knees, he called out in rat-speech, _Friends, I have food if you will aid me._

In no time, Aleks had returned to the behemoths’ campsite, Ruger notched against one shoulder. He squinted, focusing through the scope.

_Wait for it. Wait for the sweet shot._ He’d probably only get one off before the three creatures reacted. He dared to hope that the report might scare the monsters away, but no way would he rely upon it.

OoOoOo

Thorin’s eyes flared upon spying a river of rats racing towards him. Kíli gasped, all set to cry out, but Thorin elbowed the lad into silence, his own gaze captured by their naiad.

Aleks tore his gaze away, some strange contraption held to his shoulder.

One of the trolls grabbed Bombur, hefting him into the air with drool dribbling from one corner of its mouth. Futile rage shook Thorin’s frame. That dwarf belonged to _him._ Beyond the gristly tableau unfolding before them, Bofur’s face came into view as the spit turned. The toymaker opened his mouth in outrage.

The night exploded with a boom and a flash from Aleks’s contraption. The troll screamed and dropped Bombur, its hands flying to its face.

“My eye!” he cried. “My eye!”

“What was that?” another said.

The two hale trolls spun around and located Aleks. Aleks fumbled with one pocket, jammed something into his device. “Leave them alone,” the naiad growled, his entire stance threatening, belligerent.

“My eye is gone!” the first wailed again.

“You’ve got another,” a troll responded, his gaze never leaving young Aleks. He and the other troll armed themselves and stalked towards the naiad. “There’s two of us,” the troll said. “What are you gunna do now?”

“That’s what I thought would happen,” Thorin could hear Aleks mutter to himself. The lad used his device again. Another loud crack filled the air, and one of the approaching trolls dropped its weapon with a yelp, its hand sporting a bloody hole through its center.

_What kind of magic is this?_

The rats swarmed over the pile of sack-bound dwarves. “Don’t fight,” Thorin hissed. “That’s an order.” Heart pounding, he hoped he was correct about the rats being Aleks’s idea.

Then the trolls charged – all of them – and disappeared into the woods after Aleks.

OoOoOo

Aleks shoved the rifle over his shoulder and sprang into a full run, his bare feet pedaling as fast as they could go. Dried leaves kicked up behind him. Aleks weaved between trees, counting in his head. How long would it take for the rats to free the dwarves? Five minutes? Ten? And from there, how long for the freed dwarves to get Dori and the others unbound from the spit?

_Ten minutes. I’ll give them ten minutes._

Easier said than done. Using every ounce of agility in his body, he raced for a time in one direction, then did a sharp turn and headed in another. Trees snapped and crashed behind him. Thunderous footsteps pounded the ground in his wake. Back and forth, he zig-zagged, trying to keep his path erratic but still contained in the general area. More than once, the creatures got closer than he liked. He escaped by the skin of his teeth.

Until he miscalculated. Badly.

He skidded to a halt at the edge of a cliff, his inertia almost catapulting him over the side. Windmilling his arms, he fell back to safe ground.

A deep, dark chuckle sounded behind him. Aleks spun around, loading the rifle and spilling more precious ammo on the rocky ground.

“I’m gunna enjoy this,” one of the creatures said as it hefted a club three times Aleks’s size. With the other two arrayed on either side of him, Aleks was surrounded.

Aleks flashed satyr, antlers and hooves materializing in a heartbeat. The creatures gave him one-two blinks, stances easing the tiniest bit in bafflement.

“Bill, what did it just do?” one asked.

“I don’t know, Bert.”

Aleks bolted, going for broke. Animal instincts took over, and he wielded his antlers like a mighty stag, slashing at the massive hand that reached for him. Bert bellowed, and a force slammed into Aleks’s back, hurtling him from his hooves and through the air. He squawked, pain radiating across his back.

He crashed down amid snapping twigs and unyielding branches. Though they slowed his descent, he was battered and gouged by them. When he finally hit ground, he was in worse shape. Miracles of miracles, he didn’t strangle himself on his rifle’s strap, though it did get twisted around one arm.

Aleks groaned into the dead leaves littering the forest floor. Loud stomps raced in his direction, and he forced himself to hands and knees - shoving the rifle until it hung across his back again - and then onto wobbly legs. He returned to human form, knowing he’d have to assess his satyr-self for damage later. He feared a snapped antler at the very least.

He stumbled back towards his friends, hoping they’d had enough time to win free. Either way, he was bringing a whole load of trouble back to their doorstep. Aleks ached all over, and his leg stung like it’d played target for a mob of angry hornets. No time to slow, no time to stop. He plowed on, forcing himself to keep up his pace.

More deafening, wooden snaps pursued him through the woods. _Good grief._ The ungainly monsters were going to single-handedly deforest the entire area. What _were_ they?

He burst into the small clearing with no warning and ran straight into Dwalin. The burly, bald-headed dwarf caught him and thrust him behind the rest of them as the dwarves clustered before him, weapons raised.

“I will squish you like jelly!” Bert roared. The other two creatures assumed flanking positions. The one Aleks had partially blinded hefted a branch he’d ripped from a tree as a club. His single eye glared balefully in Aleks’s direction.

“The dawn will take you all!” a voice suddenly called out from atop a rocky ledge behind the creatures.

“Gandalf,” Aleks heard Bilbo say.

The creatures craned about. “Who’s that?” one asked.

“No idea,” another said.

“Can we eat him, too?”

Gandalf slammed his staff down on the ledge and the rock split in two, half crumbling away to allow brilliant sunlight to flood into the glade.

The creatures cried out in fear and pain as their skin turned a pale gray, flaking, as they turned to stone.

Aleks dropped on his rump, too exhausted to move.

OoOoOo

Thorin exchanged quiet words with Gandalf as Oin knelt before Aleks and began to check him over. The dwarf ignored Aleks’s token resistance, batting his hands out of his way. Kíli and his brother joined them.

“What is that?” Kíli demanded, pointing at the rifle.

“Why did you not tell us you wielded a weapon already?” Fíli tacked on.

Aleks grimaced as Oin ripped the tear in Aleks’s jeans wider. The opening exposed a gash that extended from one side of his thigh to his knee. It bled badly and looked to be a good inch deep.

Oin clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “You are fortunate it did not go deeper, laddie.”

Aleks nodded wearily, leaning back on his hands. To the Durin sons, he said, “The weapon is called a rifle. I don’t want to rely on it, because once I run out of ammo, I can’t get more.”

“Ammo?” Kíli repeated.

“The trolls must have a cave nearby,” a new voice interjected. Thorin’s. All three arched their necks to look at the king. “Fíli, Kíli, come with me to search it out.” Slashing gray eyes turned to Aleks. “Well done, Aleks. Very well done.”

“I promised the rats food for their aid,” Aleks blurted.

From behind Thorin, an out-of-breath Bilbo appeared. The hobbit thrust a satchel at Oin. “Your healer’s bag.”

“Thank ye, lad.” Oin dug into its contents.

Thorin watched them for a moment, then said, “I’ll see to it the rats are rewarded.” A glimmer of dry amusement lightened his face for a split second. “Anything in particular they would prefer?”

Aleks shuddered, his eyes falling shut for a heartbeat as Oin started cleaning his wound. “Just…” Grunt. “Just leave them the leftovers from our supper. You can spill it out at the edges of our camp. They know to wait for it there.”

A somber nod. “It will be done as you say.” His head turned a fraction to his left. “Master Baggins, if you would?”

Before he finished asking, Bilbo said, “I’ll take care of it,” and dashed off.

“Dori, stay with him,” Thorin called.

“Aye.”

“Gloin, see to the protection of our naiad and healer. The rest of you, come with me.”


	9. Reunited

### Chapter 8

After the others had returned bearing new weapons – even Bilbo, Aleks noted with a silent whistle – the hobbit made his way to Aleks’s side, his face pensive as he looked at the long dagger in his hands. 

“I heard what you did,” Aleks said in an undertone.

Bilbo checked himself, as if believing Aleks might be speaking to someone else. “M-me?”

Smiling, Aleks nodded. “That was brave, delaying those creatures like that.”

Bilbo shook his head in a vehement _no._ “I am not brave,” the hobbit assured him. “No, most decidedly not.”

Aleks snorted. “Marcus once told me that bravery was not the absence of fear, but acting in spite of it.” More dryly, “The only good piece of counsel he ever had.”

Bilbo came nearer, head tilted at an angle. “You did not care for him at all, did you?”

“Marcus?”

Bilbo bobbed his head, hands awkwardly gripping his weapon.

Aleks frowned, unable to meet the small man’s eyes. There was no hiding the bitterness in his voice as he said, “A man has no business taking in children if he has no intention of caring for them beyond their physical needs.” Bilbo wavered for a minute as tears threatened to fall. Aleks forced them back. “Feeding and clothing children is not the same as caring for them.”

“No,” the hobbit agreed. “No, it isn’t.” The small man laid a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “What you did for us? Thank you.”

Aleks gave him a half-smile. “I only wish I’d had something more powerful. A Ruger is not designed to take down big creatures like that. It’s more for small game.” Then with a laugh, “Though I suppose anything short of an Uzi might have had a hard time with those.” He dipped his head towards the stone creatures.

“Uzi?” Fíli asked as he approached, his braided blond mustache twitching.

Aleks grinned. “Wish I could show you one.”

Suddenly, a noise broke the relative peace of the morning. Something was coming, tearing through the woods and headed right for them. 

Aleks found himself on his feet. He pushed Bilbo behind him and loaded the Ruger, hopping on his good leg until he had a better vantage point of the thing’s approach. 

“Take up arms,” Thorin commanded in a bellow. The dwarves hastened to obey, spreading out, armed and ready for this new threat. 

“Thieves!” a male voice rang out from the woods. “Fire! Murder!” 

A sled crashed through the underbrush, skidding to a halt before them. He caught a glimpse of the brown-robed man at the reins before his attention locked upon the diminutive, brown haired woman in the bed of the sled.

The world vanished as a dawning sense of shock claimed him. For sitting there was none other than his missing twin sister.

OoOoOo

_Thieves, fire, murder._ I’d never understood that. Before I could ask the wizard in question, we were staring at the business end of over a dozen blades wielded by a motley band of bearded dwarves.

My nape tingled as if someone stared at me. My head whipped around to find…my brother. A scruffier, dirtier version of Aleks, I’d never seen. His jaw sported the beginnings of a ginger beard, and his hair looked tousled. His clothes showed signs of hard use, and his leg was gashed and bleeding. I gaped at my brother. To think him dead and now to see him in his element, it was more than I could take in. 

Alive. He was… “You’re alive!” I exclaimed, rising slowly to my feet. I tripped over the sled’s rim but managed to remain upright. 

Those olive green eyes mirrored my shock before hardening. “So,” he growled, “are you.” 

He might as well have slapped me. 

_Again,_ I howled to myself as all expression bled from my face, and I locked down. The mask slammed into place – where I promised myself it would not budge again. _Aleks._ Of all the people to be with Oakenshield’s Company, it had to be Aleks. 

I felt the press of eyes searing against my skin. Hostile, in all likelihood. I refused to check. If he’d been with them all this while, he’d had ample time to tell them all the dastardly things I’d done. Or at least, all the things Aleks plunked on my doorstep. 

Hollow inside, I forced my attention back to Radagast. 

A speck of confusion touched me. Where had that bird poop come from? And that spacey look in his hazel eyes? Was he… _faking?_ Was this where his idiot reputation came from? If this was the face he presented to Saruman, no wonder the head of his order held him in such disdain. 

A suspicion arose. _He does it on purpose._ After all, who would bother him if he acted like – well, _this_ – every time an elf, dwarf, or man happened by. At any other time, I’d have been impressed. It took dedication to maintain such an absurd guise. A proud man certainly couldn’t do it. But once the curiosity of his actions and appearance faded, all I could think was, _Aleks wants me dead. He hates the very ground I stand upon. He wants me dead._

I paid little attention to the conversation. After all, I knew what happened next. I turned dead eyes to the woods around us, waiting for the warg’s howl that was sure to come.

OoOoOo

As Gandalf conversed with the strange wizard, Thorin waited with arms folded before him, a frown creasing his brow.

Bofur sidled close, his cousin Bifur at his side. “Now _that_ is not what I was expecting,” he said for Thorin’s ears only.

Thorin inclined his head in the barest acknowledgment. That anger ruled Aleks where his sister was concerned was no surprise. Its hold was such that not once had the naiad given them an inkling of what had transpired between them. Thorin had been left to conclude the sister must be a foul sort: scheming, backstabbing, and cruel.

Not what he was seeing before his eyes. The female naiad was over a foot shorter than her brother, smaller than all of them but the hobbit. Short, ragged hair dangled around her face, a face that had, at Aleks’s words, gone completely vacant after a glimpse of devastation. Now, her eyes refused to alight upon any of his party. She all but huddled in upon herself as she kept her focus upon the brown-robed Radagast and the woods around them. 

Suddenly, her head sprang up, her gaze intent as she stared off to one side. One slender hand lifted a strand of hair into her mouth, a nervous habit Thorin was certain she was unaware of. 

“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer.

She shied away as if he’d brandished his sword. Bofur’s swift inhale told him the toymaker was as appalled as he. More was wrong with these naiads than he had ever suspected. 

The naiad – why hadn’t anyone introduced the girl? – met his eyes for less than a heartbeat before turning to Radagast. She slunk away to the wizard’s side like a whipped dog, a second hank of hair vanishing into her mouth. A rumble went through his dwarves. He was not the only one to react with anger at the sight. 

The wizards both halted and turned eyes upon the lass. Gandalf betrayed annoyance, but the Brown Wizard… Thorin’s eyes narrowed upon him. For a moment, the vacuous look vanished from the other wizard’s eyes, and Thorin swore he detected fondness. Amusement, even. 

Thorin lifted one brow and saw Bofur’s ghost of a grin from the corner of his eyes. “What?” he asked the toymaker.

The smile faded and a rarely seen seriousness marked Bofur’s face. “Not afraid of our Grey Wizard, now, is she?”

Thorin frowned.

“She belongs with us.”

Now he turned to the dwarf. “How so?”

Bofur tugged on one ear. “Where else can she go? Like the lad, she’s got nowhere else to be, Thorin. Who will take her in? Men? The elves? She is Aleks’s kin. We cannot allow him to do this. Not without reason.”

Thorin’s hands descended to his waist. Two fingers smoothed across the pommel of his sword. Even should they cross paths with them, he’d never tolerate Aleks’s sister to be left in the hands of _elves._ “Aleks may have a valid reason for his actions.”

 _“Och,_ you do not believe that. Not seeing what we’ve seen.”

“Bofur, she is not your lost cousin.”

Anger sparked within those green-brown eyes. Anger tainted by pain. “Well do I know that, Thorin.”

Thorin heaved a sigh, regretting his hasty surmise about Bofur’s motives. He redirected the conversation. “I do not believe she trusts us.” 

Oddly enough, it was Bifur who responded. In Khuzdul, he said, “Fear. Learned over much time.” The gruff, wild-looking dwarf withdrew to Bombur’s side without further comment. He never once glanced in Aleks’s direction, never gave any indication the naiad was the subject of their conversation. 

Thorin was once more reminded of just why he’d placed so much trust in the three Khazad-dum-descended dwarves that comprised his unofficial honor guard. None would believe it to look at them, but they were shrewd and tactful, albeit in a brazen and misleading fashion.

Thorin watched as Aleks’s sister stood beside the wizard with no expression on her face. Patient. Unbudging. Aleks was not malicious or possessing of a mean nature. The female naiad had done something to earn Aleks’s animosity, and Thorin wouldn’t allow one of questionable morals to join their venture. Too much was at stake. 

Still, Bofur had a point. The naiad should be with her brother if at all possible. Bifur’s assessment stuck with him. What could cause her to be so frightened? They had to find out what happened between the two, for as Thorin knew, family was everything. He shuddered to think where he’d be without Dís and her sons. If there was a way to fix things, the female would be joining them. If not on the quest, then when they’d won Erebor.

OoOoOo

When I dared to trespass upon the Wizard’s-Only Hallowed Ground, Gandalf frowned, a tic underscoring one eye.

Didn’t care. He wasn’t my travel companion. 

Radagast’s idiot face flickered, and I caught a peek of the intense, abrupt wizard I’d come to know. He held up one finger and continued to discuss Dol Guldur with Gandalf. I counted in my head, waiting for everything to fall to pot. 

_Warn them,_ a part of me urged about the time I reached sixty. I hate to admit it, but my lips actually parted, the words on the tip of my tongue. _Run._ That’s all I had to say to Thorin. I snapped my mouth closed. _Are you crazy? If you warn them, what if they ride off on their ponies, SUCCESSFUL in evading the orcs?_ No trip to Rivendell. No consultation with Elrond about the map, not unless Gandalf could be a lot more convincing than he had been to this point. Erebor not reclaimed. Smaug not killed.

Another thought. No trip to Rivendell might mean a different path through the Misty Mountains. No Thunder Battle, no meeting with the Great Goblin. And if that didn’t happen, Bilbo wouldn’t find the One Ring. 

My stomach twisted. One word, and I could have condemned all of Middle Earth to an eternity of Sauron. I clutched myself, feeling faint at what I’d almost done. _Have to stay away from the dwarves._ A slip with Radagast might be fixable. As a wizard, I could probably tell him what I knew, and he’d make sure the time-line remained intact. But anyone else? 

_If the books are true._ Also a chilling thought. What if they were mostly accurate, but not entirely? Spilling the beans could lead to faulty expectations. Suddenly, being stranded on Middle Earth didn’t feel like such a gift. Oh, it was better than Faerie – infinitely better than that – but so would a swift execution before a firing squad. 

A warg’s low growl had everyone whirling to face west. It stalked closer, ready to spring. _What if someone dies because I didn’t speak?_

The warg leaped towards Thorin, but a club-like branch slammed into its path – Bombur, moving with amazing agility and speed. His forceful blow cracked bones and sent the warg flying into the glowing embers of their camp fire. Thorin finished it with one swipe of Orcrist. 

Another growl came from the other side of the clearing, and Bofur took up a protective stance by my side. _Why…?_ The warg charged, this one aiming for Thorin, too, but before it reached him, an arrow sliced through the air and embedded itself in its skull with a dull thunk. A bald, muscular dwarf – Dwalin, I assumed – slammed his war-hammer down upon its skull, crushing it like a pancake. 

_Ick._ I swallowed and averted my eyes. I ended up staring at Kíli by chance. The younger Durin gave me a gamine grin and a wink. 

“Warg-scouts,” Thorin identified. “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

I forced my gaze away from the young dwarf, at turns confused and flattered by that flirtatious wink. _Don’t care,_ I repeated to myself. Not about any of them. If they’d embraced Aleks into their group, they’d hate me for his sake. And, again, I couldn’t afford to be sociable with them. Too dangerous for us all.

“O-orc pack?” 

Grateful for the distraction, my eyes sought the speaker and found the hobbit staring at the warg corpse with saucer-sized eyes. Aleks placed a protective hand upon Bilbo’s shoulder and glared at me. Like I would harm him or something.

“You are being hunted,” Gandalf declared, staff in one hand as he marched towards Thorin. “Who did you tell of your quest?”

“No one,” Thorin growled.

“Who did you tell?” Gandalf demanded in a harder tone.

“No one, I swear.” From the hot look in Thorin’s gray eyes, I believed him. Not that I’d doubted, knowing the story. 

“We have to get out of here,” Dwalin said, hefting his heavy ax over one shoulder. 

“We can’t! We have no ponies!” a younger, thinner dwarf cried out. _Ori,_ I labeled. The dwarf had hair a shade more coppery than mine and ink smudges on his fingertips. “They bolted.”

Oh, no. Here it came. I made tracks back to Radagast’s sled. Bofur frowned, a strange expression on his face. 

“I will draw them off,” Radagast proclaimed. It earned him incredulous looks all around. 

“These are Gundabad wargs,” Gandalf said. “They’ll outrun you.”

“They didn’t last time,” I offered helpfully, picking up my tote and slinging it over my neck for added assurance. I wasn’t losing it. If it held the only chocolate on Middle Earth, death alone would part me from it. 

Bofur marched closer, his own weapon – _huh, so that’s a mattock_ – hoisted onto a muscular shoulder. “Lass?”

I ignored his question. “I’m ready. We going or what?”

Shocked silence.

Radagast smirked, his facade discarded for the moment. “I didn’t know you were so fond of me, leaf-child.” Then more seriously, “You will remain here with Gandalf.”

My own face assumed an obstinate bent. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

I stomped close and got up into his face…er, chest. (I hated being short.) One finger poked him. “Don’t you dare think you can pull that intimidation stunt on me again. It won’t work.”

Radagast elevated a single brow. “I beg your pardon, but I do not do ‘stunts’.”

“Sure you do,” I continued on. “You do that Gandalf-trick, where you seem to take up a whole lot more space, the air turns dark, and your voice booms like an angel proclaiming doom from the heavens.”

“No,” he whispered for me alone, intense hazel eyes as sharp as I’d ever seen them. “In this, you must trust me.” I got the distinct impression he knew exactly how difficult that was for me. A glimmer of sympathy and amusement lightened his stern visage. “Besides, if this is Faerie, it doesn’t matter whom you travel with, correct? None of us are who we claim to be.”

Touché. I folded arms before my chest. Maybe I should have told Radagast before now that I believed him, that Thranduil had set me straight. I suspected he knew, though. Why else the amusement?

“You will take all care,” I blurted, my fingers knotting themselves up into a ball at my waist. I felt vulnerable, revealing that much emotion. But… It was _Radagast._ I’d not been without him since he’d saved me from Dol Guldur. Well, barring one night under Beorn’s watchful – and devious – eye. 

Radagast seemed to preen, his bony shoulders straighter. “You will tell Gandalf what you beheld in Dol Guldur.” He leaned in to whisper. “Or… _is_ he Gandalf?”

Jerk. He knew, all right. I gave him a sour expression and wriggled some fingers at him, shooing him off. 

One last penetrating look, and he was off.

I watched until he disappeared from sight. Deep down, I knew he was right. He wouldn’t take anyone into danger if he could help it, especially not a young woman. My weight would only slow the sled down and put us both at risk. I snorted at myself. He’d seen me almost topple from the cargo bed more than once when he took a sharp turn. I was the last person he’d want with him when tangling with orcs.

So why did I feel so abandoned?


	10. Rivendell

### Chapter 9

The bizarre fellow, Radagast the Brown, departed upon his rabbit-drawn sled. Without Daphne. Aleks glared at his back as the idiot wizard vanished from view, resenting every bit of the situation. He’d been free from her! 

“We race through camp. Grab only what is at hand. We have no time to waste,” Thorin commanded, taking the lead and setting a fast pace through the trees. 

Dwalin fell in beside Aleks, the dwarf’s hand grabbing his elbow to aid him as he limped as fast as he could. 

“Thorin, Master Hunt won’t be able to keep up,” the dwarf shouted. 

Thorin fell back, allowing Gloin and Balin to assume the lead. Aleks forced more weight onto his leg. He refused to slow the group down. Oin joined them, the old dwarf’s face creased with a mighty frown. 

“Naiad!” Thorin’s bellow had Daphne spinning around from where she ran sandwiched between Bofur and Bifur. “Do you know what things your brother most needs?” 

Daphne’s blank face betrayed no thoughts, but she nodded her head. 

“I don’t trust her,” Aleks bit out. 

Thorin’s hard glare silenced him. To Daphne, he ordered, “Gather his things. I trust you will not betray him in this.”

Her face whitened and her lips turned pinched, but she again nodded. “I might be able to give him something to ease his pain,” she offered in that toneless voice. She couldn’t sound like he mattered less if she tried, Aleks thought sourly. 

“I wouldn’t--” Aleks objected hotly.

Another stern flicker of the eyes from Thorin silenced him. “We have a healer he trusts. Your aid is not needed.”

 _Bull’s-eye,_ Aleks crowed as she reacted to the smack-down. Without word, she turned around and sprinted away.

Oin pulled a handful of something from his satchel and rolled it into a pellet. “Chew this. Bitter as lost love, but it will dull the pain.” 

Bitter was an understatement, but Aleks ruthlessly repressed the urge to gag and did as instructed as they continued at a lope back to camp. When they arrived, the dwarves were ready, necessities packed up and loaded onto their backs. 

Thorin accepted his gear with a nod of thanks to Fíli. Oin pressed Aleks to a seat and frowned at his blood-soaked bandages. The aged healer dug through his satchel, but white gauze suddenly dangled before his face. Daphne. 

“We don’t need--” Aleks began. 

“It will contain the bleeding better than what you have,” she told Oin in that unruffled voice. Aleks _hated_ that tone. She next handed a vial of liquid to the dwarf. “Rose and yarrow to staunch the bleeding. Naiads seem to respond to that mixture best.” She walked away.

“Where’s my stuff?” Aleks growled to her back. 

“You can’t carry it,” she replied in that cool voice. 

“I don’t want _you_ with--”

Bofur stepped between them, hefting the bag to show it to Aleks. “Aye, so I figured. I have it.”

“Oin?” Thorin said with a bite of impatience. “We must hasten.”

Oin stared at the materials Daphne had provided, uncorked the vial and sniffed it. “It is as she claims.”

Aleks was a heartbeat from objecting before rational thought caught up. Daphne knew more about healing a naiad than Oin. If her concoction would aid them, he’d use it. “Do it,” he said, earning a nod of approval from Thorin.

Oin quickly coated his wound with a liberal dose of the liquid and wrapped his leg up tight. Without further delay, they raced from the campsite.

Aleks’s leg burned like someone was taking a hot brand to it. Thorin, Fíli and Oin kept close tabs on him, and his temper flared up. He’d keep up. They didn’t need to treat him like an invalid. 

For the first half hour or so, the forest offered them some semblance of cover. Sounds of wargs and orcs rose in the distance, and Aleks had to shake his head. Who would have thought that crazy-looking dude would succeed in keeping the unknown creatures busy like that? And with rabbits of all things.

The Company burst from the forest into an open vista. _No, no, this isn’t good._ Yet, Gandalf led them on. “Hurry, this way,” the wizard called, urging them in a northeastern direction. 

From time to time, they’d spot the other wizard’s sled rushing by, closely pursued by about a dozen of the warg creatures mounted by – Nori confirmed – orcs. The open plateau was littered with rocks and boulders. Aleks discovered he had to take special care with where he placed his feet for fear to turning an ankle or tripping. Scrubby brush and prickly weeds sprouted in patches here and there, but nothing grew large enough to offer any concealment. More than once, the party froze in their tracks between two boulders as the wizard and his entourage crossed into view. 

It was while they were huddled behind one such boulder watching Radagast lead the orcs into sight that the stalemate broke. A growl was their only warning. Hugging the side of the odd-shaped rock, Thorin peeked over the top for a split-second. He gestured to Kíli to shoot the thing. 

Beyond Kíli, he spotted Daphne yet again between Bofur and Bifur. Bifur, he didn’t really know. The dwarf had an ax embedded in his skull that had left him unable to speak anything but Khuzdul. But the dwarf eyed her closely. _Good._

Something flickered across her face as she watched Kíli. It was then he remembered. She knew the stories about this world. Gandalf was a major figure. If anything of importance had been recorded about the members of this Company and their pasts, she knew about it. 

Kíli’s arrow flew true and killed the warg on impact, but the orc rider managed to raise the alarm before Dwalin and Gloin dragged him from the rock and slammed their weapons home, Gloin with his long, curved ax and Dwalin a fearsome looking war-hammer. 

Aleks stared at the creature for a moment. Distorted cranial features, discolored skin, sharp teeth. He covered his nose and mouth with one hand. _Agh._ They smelled. 

“Fly!” Gandalf cried. “This way!” 

They needed no urging, for the orc scouts had left the other wizard and now charged at the dwarves with ground-eating strides. Arrows whizzed by, narrowly missing Ori and Dori. 

In less than a minute, the creatures had closed with them. Aleks shot his rifle. A warg pivoted to snarl at him. Aleks backpedaled, thrusting at its face with the butt of his Ruger. Teeth snapped at the gun and clamped down, then with a jerk of its head, it sent the Ruger flying away. 

“No!” He’d lost his weapon. How could he _lose his weapon_ in the middle of a fight? Dude… 

The orc riding the creature stabbed at Dori. The dwarf parried with his falchion while Nori slammed his mace into the orc’s belly and used that leverage to hoist the creature from its seat in an impressive display of strength. 

Aleks dodged as the warg lunged at him, teeth again snapping. Hot breath hit Aleks’s face. _Too close._ Roots burst from the ground beneath the warg, lashing and trapping it so fast Aleks blinked. Thicker and thicker they grew until the creature was pinned to the ground.

OoOoOo

I knelt on the ground with palms flat against the hard dirt, pouring life into the dormant root system, waking it, feeding it, and directing it. The effort hurt. My head pounded like a bass drum in the hands of a giddy two-year-old, but I kept siphoning off my energy and pressing it into the roots. Hungry, the dried out root system, and it required more of me than I ever would have suspected. As it slurped up the dregs of my own stores, wooziness snuck in and stole over me in slow stages.

 _Someone kill it, already._

The warg thrashed against my woodsy chains, snarling and biting until one fiber managed to loop around its snout and lock it shut. My two protectors faded from perception. They fought nearby, I knew, but it took all I had to keep the warg pinned.

Aleks scrambled for his rifle and spun around, shooting it in the neck. He reloaded and shot again. Then Fíli arrived, the heir splattered with black orc blood and gore. He spun his butcher-knife of a sword in an arc before slamming it down across the warg’s exposed neck. Back blood spurted over both the men. I dropped my efforts and collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. 

_Not cut out for this._

Callused hands hoisted me up by my arms and got me moving. Bifur, I belatedly identified. Bofur slammed the pick end of his mattock into another would-be attacker and trotted backwards, keeping pace while not lowering his guard. 

We retreated across the barren landscape. Through an avalanche of fatigue, I caught glimpses of the others: Aleks using his hunting knife to stab an orc almost on top of Ori; Gloin spinning in a circle, his long ax slicing in to a trio of orcs daring to venture too close; Kíli shooting arrow after arrow; and Thorin, his blade wreaking death in a bloody dance no words could adequately portray. 

A guttural snarl. Bofur yanked me from harm’s way by the scruff of my neck as Bifur impaled the warg with his odd-tipped spear. Bifur shouted something I couldn’t understand - Khuzdul? - and flashed me a brief, toothy grin. Bofur laughed briefly in response. 

More wargs arrived and rushed past us. _Cutting us off._ Thorin and Balin retreated and the enemy pressed in.

“We’re surrounded!” someone yelled.

“Close ranks!” Thorin bellowed.

“Where’s Gandalf?”

“He’s abandoned us!” 

I knew where Gandalf was. I knew what would happen next, yet fear dampened my skin and tightened like a knot in my chest. This was no movie, and that made all the difference. 

“Stay close, lass,” a new voice said as a big body took position on Bofur’s opposite side. The three family members had formed a wall before me. I turned to meet Bombur’s round face. 

“Why are you helping me? Why do you care?” It slipped out without warning. 

Bombur’s head jerked back, his lips parted. 

“This way, you fools!” 

_Finally._

“Go!” Thorin shouted.

In no time, the entire party stood within a cave-like, narrow crevasse located by Gandalf. The peal of an elvish horn preceded the clash of wargs against a new foe, Lord Elrond and Rivendell’s forces. Thorin and the others listened with tension vibrating through their bodies as they heard the sounds of battle above us. 

A single orc fell down the narrow, sloped path to where we stood. Thorin nudged it to its back with one boot, his jaw clenching as he noted the arrow protruding from its eye socket. 

“Elves,” Thorin muttered, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his head at an angle to stare at Gandalf. His lips compressed into a white slash. Not the appearance of a happy camper. 

“This path goes on a ways up ahead, but I cannot see where it leads,” Dwalin approached his king to announce. “Do we follow it or not?” 

“Follow it, of course,” Bofur replied, making his way to the front of the group. Bifur and Bombur followed, and me perforce with them. It seemed the three were not allowing me to leave their care, and I couldn’t fathom why for the life of me. I knew Aleks. Sure as the sun rose in the morning, he’d never have anything good to say about me.

“I think that would be wise,” Gandalf said from behind us. 

The ceiling above split as we progressed, turning the closed-in, suffocating confines into a narrow, winding stone cathedral. Light flooded in from the slit far overhead, dashing the sense of an oppressive weight ready to crumble and bury us at any moment. Hugging my arms to me, I breathed deeply and turned my face up into the light. Bombur’s gentle grasp on my elbow kept me moving.

The path twisted and turned, looping back upon itself as it crept ever downward. The walls bracketing us were worn smooth, their surfaces at times startlingly beautiful as the muted grays and browns were shot through with sudden streaks of a coppery shimmer. 

Conversation flowed among the others. Aleks, I could hear, had found himself a new home with this crew. He joked from somewhere behind me, jesting with the dwarves as if they’d been in his life for years, not the scant week I knew it to be. 

I blew out a breath, my chest tight. With a muffled oath to myself, I yanked hair from my mouth. So Aleks had landed in relative safety and found a place for himself, and I’d ended up in the shadow-infested ruins of Dol Guldur alone. The tightness in my chest migrated up to my throat, and I bit down on my inner cheek. A part of me observed that life could be brutally fair at times. 

I bumped into Bifur’s back. The scruffy, wild-haired dwarf called incomprehensible words over his shoulder. Bofur guided me to the side and out onto a landing, and there it was: Rivendell. The Valley of Imladris.

OoOoOo

Thorin’s spine was as stiff as a poker as the dwarves followed Gandalf into the valley and towards the settlement nestled far below. Rivendell, Aleks had heard Bilbo name it. The name rang familiar, and for the hundredth time, Aleks cursed himself for not seeing the movies. Even if the events of this quest were not covered, it would be nice to have some idea of the geography.

Or the political undertones. 

What was it about this place that set Thorin so on edge? The king looked to be going into the enemy’s lair, and the other dwarves didn’t look much happier. Balin stroked his beard, his eyes narrowed and gaze shifting from side to side. Dwalin had a death grip on his war hammer, his nostrils flared and bald head shiny with perspiration. Bombur’s round face was uncharacteristically devoid of warmth, and Ori clutched his slingshot to his chest with a white-knuckled hold. 

The only two not showing signs of strain were Bilbo and Daphne. Bilbo continued to gape as they neared the town, and Aleks didn’t much blame him. Ornate bridges spanned dozens of burbling streams and creeks that all emptied into a wider, wilder river separating the bulk of Rivendell from the base of the path leading to it. The bridges looked like frosting filigree, something off of a fussy woman’s elaborate wedding cake. Curlicues of white wood or metal – Aleks couldn’t tell which – laced the sides and tops of each bridge. 

If the bridges were fantastical, the structures composing Rivendell were the stuff of a chick’s dreams. Impossible spires with open balconies in organic shapes loomed overhead as if trying to outdo the behemoth waterfall splashing down at one end of the settlement. Roofs peaked in multiple places, granting the structures a more tent-like appearance. More filigree decor lined walkways and outdoor, spiral stairwells. 

Their wizard led them across bridges - and up close, Aleks was astounded that the delicate constructs would support the weight of the hobbit, much less the entire Company - and down walkways to a round, pillared courtyard. Here is where Gandalf stopped, his hands about his staff as he waited. Aleks’s eyes swept across his friends’ faces, halting abruptly upon _her._ No distrust, no wariness in her. That blank face remained. Daphne was as composed as ever, and it made his hands clench into fists at his sides. Did she not care what happened to these dwarves?

 _Of course she doesn’t. She cares about one person. Herself._ A part of him wanted to object, but he drowned it out. What other conclusion was there when everyone else was tense and worried, and she showed as much care on her face as if she was standing in line at the Dairy Queen? 

Movement on the winged, swooping stone stairs caused him to abandon his scrutiny of her. Someone was descending to their level. 

Thorin signaled subtly and the dwarves huddled together, Bilbo, Ori and himself in the center. A second later, Daphne was thrust to his side, Thorin’s long look telling him not to object. Aleks’s jawbone ached as he bit back the words he longed to utter. His skin fair prickled with the sensation of spider’s legs as he inched away from her, putting Ori between them. 

A robed man, tall and thin, stepped off of the bottom stair, his fine, straight hair hanging freely across his chest and back. Were those pointed ears? 

“Mithrandir,” the man greeted, his head inclined. Aleks thought he’d never seen such an effeminate face on a man before. Smooth skin, delicate features. 

_Poor sap._

“Ah, Lindir,” Gandalf replied, bowing his head in return. “I must speak with Lord Elrond.”

The male’s gaze scanned their group so quickly it was over before Aleks could blink. If he thought them dangerous or alarming, he gave no indication of it. “Lord Elrond is not here,” the male said. 

“Not here?” Gandalf sounded dismayed to Aleks. “Where is he?”

 _Who is Elrond?_

Horns broke the silence, followed by the clatter of horses’ hooves. Aleks spun around to see twenty or more of the smooth-faced people riding right for them, each clad in glittering armor.

“Form ranks!” Thorin bellowed. 

The dwarves hefted their weapons, standing at the ready. Aleks loaded his rifle and waited.

OoOoOo

“Form ranks!”

I swayed on my feet from exhaustion, just shy of rolling my eyes at the paranoia of the dwarves. The Last Homely House had to be the single most hospitable place in Middle Earth, yet here they were, arming themselves for an unnecessary confrontation. Bofur’s winged hat almost smacked Bifur in the face as the toymaker/miner turned to check on me for a moment. His green-brown eyes held mine for a heartbeat, and then he faced forward, his grip on his mattock firmer. 

What, pray tell, did that mean? A warning not to stab them in the back?

I remained silent as Elrond greeted Gandalf before turning to Thorin. _How long will this take?_ My hand crept into my tote to dig out a Snickers square, and I popped it into my mouth after a slow, careful look around. 

Not careful enough, apparently, as Bombur’s dark brown eyes snared mine, his lips twitching. Without a word, I pressed another confection into his hand, my own lips trembling with the strain of stifling laughter as he tossed the Snickers into his mouth and began to chew, he cheeks flushing and a small, irrepressible grin visible even around his bushy beard. His brown brows winged upwards. 

We both missed some of the interplay between the elves and dwarves, but the bristling of Gloin with, “What does he say? Does he offer us insult?” sure brought us back to attention. The air around us fairly crackled with hostile indignation. 

“No, Master Gloin, he is offering you food,” Gandalf said.

The dwarves leaned back, whispering among themselves. A second later, Gloin stepped forward. “Very well, then. Lead on.”

They followed Lindir deeper into Rivendell. 

I slowed as I neared Lord Elrond, unable to just walk past. I mean, _Lord Elrond._ From the corner of my eye, I saw the way Aleks stiffened and stomped off, and Bombur and Bofur paused, arms crossed before their chests and matching expressions pasted to their faces. Something there carried me past the elf lord and to their side. 

Bombur leaned in. “Stay close to us, lass. We’ll let no harm befall you.”

OoOoOo

Dinner in Rivendell consisted of a whole array of silver platters and bowls, each brimming with assorted breads, fruits, and salads. Aleks ate with relish, filling his plate time and again while his companions picked through the food with ill-concealed disappointment and distaste.

Thorin, he noted with a snort, showed no such qualms. The king sat at the head table along with Lord Elrond and Gandalf, discussing the weapons they’d found in the troll cave. Their leader ate the food before him between comments and listening intently to the other two. If he had any complaints about the food, he was too kingly to reveal them to his host. 

Even if he didn’t much trust or care for his host. 

“I don’t like green food,” Ori said from his seat a few places down. Aleks grinned around a mouthful of crisp greens as Ori’s older brother, Dori, attempted to coax him into eating more of the offerings, but he didn’t seem to be having much luck. 

Aleks shifted in his seat, his bandaged leg surprisingly pain-free considering what it had endured. Elvish medicine had proved remarkable. He’d hated to accept the help, but Gandalf had insisted, professing Lord Elrond to be the premier healer in Middle Earth.

 _Oin is as able,_ he thought with a spurt of resentment, loyalty winning out. Still, he felt better. Stronger. He was surrounded by his new family in safety. The only fly in his enjoyment sat at the other end of the table, silent. Bofur and his brother and cousin laughed and joked beside her, but _she_ remained an island of calm unmoved by their humor. 

_Even those three can’t thaw the Ice Princess._ He rolled his eyes and took another long draught of the fine wine they’d been served.

OoOoOo

I poked at my food. My feet were ecstatic that they’d been relieved of duty, but the rest of me wanted more. Like, say, _sleep._ Visions of comfy beds danced through my head. (Who needed sugarplums?) Maybe a quiet corner away from all these strangers.

Beside me, Bombur and Bofur had given up coaxing me into conversation and chatted with each other in a never-ending stream of observations interspersed with a goodly dose of teasing. That the three were not impressed with elven men was an understatement. They commented about their lack of facial hair, their flowing robes, and their feminine gaits. It rather made it funnier when Kíli made a comment about an elf maid only to expire from mortification as Dwalin informed the young dwarf that the maid in question was no such thing, but a male instead. 

Even I couldn’t repress the curl of my lips at that. Bofur caught me at it, and I sobered up fast. Bah, this tiredness was doing me in. I _could not_ get close to these dwarves. They had welcomed Aleks into their midst. They were his. And what was his would never be mine. Aleks would make sure of it. Plus, there was the tiny issue of inadvertently rewriting history with a slip of the tongue.

Still, my gaze kept pulling in the young prince’s direction like a moth to a flame. If the fangirls back on Earth thought the actor portraying Kíli cute, they really needed to see the real deal. His rugged and masculine good looks left me blushing every time my eyes wandered his way. It was ridiculous and embarrassing. I plunked my head down on the table.

“Alright lads, there’s only one thing for it,” I heard Bofur suddenly proclaim.

 _For real?_ My head popped up. Bofur climbed up onto the table as bold as brass and began to sing. The dwarves all perked up, pounding utensils upon the table and joining in with merry grins. Bofur was completely in his element. He hammed it up, dancing between plates and mugs. 

A laugh escaped me. Then another. It was so silly, yet the silliness felt like a breath of fresh air. I didn’t see who threw the first fistful of food, but in seconds, Bofur was dodging food projectiles, laughing as he finished his song with a flourish. 

He bowed and winked at me as he reclaimed his seat. “I knew ye had it in you.”

“Pardon?” I asked.

“A smile, lass.” A big grin. He lifted his mug in a silent toast and took a deep drink. 

“Master Hunt? Mistress Hunt?” 

I craned my neck around at Gandalf’s summons, my amusement fading upon sight of his stern visage. Gandalf beckoned Aleks and me with a crook of his finger. “Lord Elrond and I must speak with you both.”

“What possible business does the elf have with them?” Thorin’s quiet question held a note of warning. By my side, Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur reacted, their hands dancing near weapons though they maintained a facade – by now, I was certain it _was_ a facade – of ne’er-do-well, simpleton dwarves. Okay, _Bofur and Bombur_ maintained that facade. With the ax embedded in his forehead, Bifur could never pass for anything approaching amiable. 

I collected myself to stand, but Bofur reached out with two fingers to my wrist, halting me. 

“No harm will come to them,” Lord Elrond assured. Younger of appearance than the movies, Elrond was an elf lord in his prime. A handsome one, too, with black, glossy tresses and sharp-edged cheek bones. It was no wonder Celebrian had fallen for him. 

“No, it won’t, because if you wish to speak with them, it will be with us present,” Thorin said, rising to his feet and planting himself between our table and the wizard and elf. Gandalf opened his mouth, I suspected to object, but Thorin continued, “They are members of my Company and under my protection. Balin.” 

The other dwarf shot to his feet. 

Thorin’s eyes never left the two before him. “You as well, my friend,” Thorin said.

Balin nodded his head. “Aye.” The shorter dwarf clapped Aleks on the back as my brother rose, then beckoned me with a tilt of the head. I found myself staring at my three protectors, like they could intervene or some such nonsense. 

Bombur with his wide face, fleshy jowls and dark eyes was nothing like his movie depiction but for his obvious love for good food. His hair was a dark chestnut, not a flaming, fuzzy red. Kindness seemed present in his eyes more often than not, and he inclined his head towards me in encouragement. 

Bifur? He had hair that was a wild, gray-streaked version of his cousins’. One would never believe him to be a toymaker by appearance, but knowing that encouraged me to believe there was a great deal more to him than his fearsome visage suggested. 

And then there was Bofur. What could I say, except he was Bofur? The hat was almost dead-on to his movie presentation, and his hair and beard were a rich, dark chocolate brown. He lacked the youthful air that persisted to grace Fíli’s and Kíli’s faces, but he was not old. Nor, for that matter, were Bombur or Bifur. The three were mature. Men, not untried youths.

I had nothing I could think to say, so I joined Balin and Aleks in trailing along behind Gandalf and Elrond from the open dining room. Our footsteps rang out like a funeral dirge, or so it seemed to my mind. My sneakers squeaked once or twice, breaking up the somber beats and earning me a brief look-over from Gandalf. 

Elrond paused before a set of carved, gilded double doors. Grasping the handles, he opened them both at once. With a graceful little pivot, he waved us inside. Thorin marched in with a cursory glance at his surroundings, Balin at his shoulder. Aleks remained close to the dwarf king, and when Lord Elrond gestured towards seats clustered in one corner of the room, he quickly claimed the seat closest to the two dwarves. 

I stood rooted near the door. Elrond’s study was everything I’d ever imagined it to be. Leather-bound books lined rich wooden shelves that arched to the ceiling, which was itself a thing of art high overhead. This was a collection accumulated over countless centuries. The space had to be a good twenty by thirty feet with elaborate rugs covering the golden marble floor. Soft, leather furniture sat here and there, and a heavy, mahogany desk dominated the far end of the room.

Despite its elegance, this room held a homely appeal. It offered comfort and respite. I could almost visualize Elrond enjoying quiet conversation with his sons and daughter here. 

“Lass?”

I tore myself free at Balin’s call and sat next to him as he indicated. 

“Now, perhaps you will tell us what the purpose of this meeting might be,” Thorin said once I was settled. His hands were interlaced across his belly as he sat, but his brows were lowered, his gray eyes like banked thunderheads, ready to unleash their fury if provoked.

“As Gandalf has stated, we mean your companions no harm,” Lord Elrond said as he leaned against the desk. His eyes, a deep storm gray, alighted upon Aleks, then me. “You are not of a people native to Middle Earth. How did you come to be here?”

“Does it matter? They are here now,” Thorin commented. 

Gandalf shifted his staff from one hand to the other. Standing near a window, the wizard shot a frown Thorin’s way. “Of course it matters. Things are moving within Middle Earth. The arrival of these siblings at this time - one within Dol Guldur itself - needs addressing.”

“Dol Guldur?” Elrond tapped fingers on the edges of his desktop. “The abandoned fortress?”

Gandalf inclined his head. “Though Radagast informs me it may not be abandoned any longer.” The two exchanged a long, significant look. “We will seek aid in returning you both to your realm. There are those dwelling in Middle Earth with vast stores of knowledge. It is my hope one might possess the clue to making this return possible,” Gandalf informed us with a polite upturn of the lips. It wasn’t a smile, because it wasn’t sincere. The warmth emanating from it couldn’t fill a thimble. To me, it seemed Gandalf was uncertain about Aleks and me, especially when combined with what Radagast must have told him. He wanted us and the uncertainty we presented removed from the playing field. 

I could have been reading him wrong, but that was my impression, and when Thorin spoke up, I suspected he was of the same frame of mind as me. “I don’t recall Aleks asking you to return him,” he said mildly. 

“This is not his world,” Elrond interjected. 

“It is not your decision to make,” Thorin said, his voice flat. “I will not allow you to make decisions for him that effect his life. You have no right.”

What was that sound? Right, that was me being tossed under the bus. _Thanks, Thorin._ Viewed dispassionately, it wasn’t shocking. He’d traveled with Aleks for over a week now. He knew him so it was natural he’d defend him first. But I wasn’t feeling dispassionate. I felt alone. 

And I began to get mad.


	11. Accusations and Revelations

### Chapter 10

Aleks glared at the elf standing before them. How dare he? He didn’t know him, and he sure as spit had no right to be determining his future. Thorin’s swift defense meant the world to him. No matter that both elf lord and wizard seemed united on this, Thorin stood like Gibraltar, refusing to be moved.

A flick of the eyes, an exchange between the two would-be questioners. Gandalf cleared his throat. “Master Hunt, do you remember anything else about your arrival on Middle Earth?”

Aleks’s fingernails bit into his palms, he clenched his fists so tightly. “I told you everything I know,” he said in an even, clipped tone. Inside, a firestorm was brewing. What business was it of theirs? “What’s the big deal? I don’t see why it’s any concern of yours. I’m staying with the Company. I have no intention of interfering with elves.” And he sure as fire wasn’t going to be dealing with wizards anymore, either. 

“Master Hunt, I understand your hostility. We must ask questions. Your sister arrived--”

Of course it would be about _her,_ he thought with venom. It was as if Gandalf had hit a switch inside of him, and Alex boiled over in rage. _Her_ again. 

_“I don’t have a sister,”_ Aleks hissed, unable to remain seated, his limbs quivering with the need to move. He thrust himself from his chair and began to pace. Then a thought occurred. Daphne had always been over the moon for Tolkien’s works and Middle Earth. He homed in on her like a missile. In a low voice fraught with menace, he asked, “What did you do, Daphne?”

Her cold face didn’t so much as flicker. “I did nothing.”

“Nothing? So it is coincidence that we ended up here?” he asked, his voice adopting a low croon. “You, who love Middle Earth and spent hours reading about elves and dwarves?” If anything, her face went more rigid. He leaned in close until their noses were inches apart, his hands clamped around the arm rests of her chair. “You are going to ruin this for me, just as you ruined everything else,” he bit out. 

With one thrust, he pushed himself away. _“You_ answer their questions. You’re the one who knows all about Middle Earth,” he said bitterly. “Wanted to learn the elf languages, didn’t you?” To Gandalf. “I had nothing to do with it. Ask the one who always wanted to _be_ here. I’m done.” He paused only long enough to gain Thorin’s slow nod and stormed out of the room, slammed the door in his wake. 

_She’s doing it again,_ he fumed as he stomped down the hall, his hands fisted and his breath ragged. She’d gotten their parents murdered, and now she was going to get them banished from the only home he’d known since. 

Was she responsible for them being sent here? His fists pressed to his temples. He couldn’t _remember._ Either way, it didn’t matter. He had to get rid of her, get her away from _his_ Company before she robbed him of his new family. If the distrust circling her came home to roost, he didn’t want it to touch him. Didn’t want it to include him. 

Bottom line: she couldn’t join them. He would never allow it. He’d kill her first.

Aleks slammed a fist into a plaster wall. His head dropped. _Kill her?_ Heaven help him.

OoOoOo

Thorin held his temper in check, but outrage coursed through his veins. The wizard, he had trusted, so much so that he’d accepted Gandalf’s judgment about the hobbit and ignored his own reservations. Now, he was unsure of the wizard and his intentions. Why would Gandalf bring young Aleks to the elf’s attention? Had he not witnessed the lad’s character in the time he’d been among them? As a member of Thorin’s Company, why had he not asked his questions in a less inflammatory manner? What was it he and the elf feared?

Balin’s subtle nudge and tilt of the head drew his attention to Aleks’s sister. If she’d been the wounded puppy before, she’d now closed down until a statue showed more vitality. Her face had paled until her lips looked blood red in comparison, and her hands grasped the arms of her chair so tightly that her fingers were white and each finger bone stood out in relief. Those subtly almond-shaped eyes stared straight ahead, turned inward, as if she’d locked herself deeply away where none could reach her. 

Lord Elrond took a step towards her, but Thorin insinuated himself in his path. Gandalf made a wordless sound of frustration. “Lord Elrond is not your enemy. We must ask these questions, now more than ever.”

“I had nothing to do with our arrival here.” 

Thorin tilted his head to the side to listen closer, but he didn’t turn his back to the elf or wizard. 

In that same monotone, the lass continued, “It sounds suspicious. I know it does. But I had nothing to do with it.”

Thorin debated and then made up his mind. “Balin.”

The elder dwarf stood, white brows lifted. 

“Bring Bombur to me.” For Balin’s ears only, he added, “The lass has responded more to him than any of us. His presence may be a comfort to her now.”

“Aye.” The door opened and closed with a muted click. 

Thorin wanted one of the three honor guards with him. That the dryad had such a fascination for his world before arriving disturbed him, but he wasn’t going to pass judgment on that alone. His gut told him she was innocent of all wrongdoing. 

“He wants me dead,” she spoke again with no strength or life to her voice. “I heard him say it before, but I didn’t believe it. Not really.” Blank olive green eyes turned towards him but Thorin didn’t believe she really saw him. “We’re twins. Did he tell you that?”

Thorin turned further, his brow furrowing as he looked her over. She hated the distance between herself and her twin, that was plain to him. What had happened? Perhaps he could get some answers from her. Not now, not with an elf in the room. But soon. 

“My dear,” Gandalf began, only to be cut off as her head whipped around, her olive eyes going hard. 

“You don’t get to call me that,” she said, heat lacing her words. “You don’t know me. Nor would you treat a _dear_ like this.”

“Like what?” Lord Elrond asked in a gentle voice.

She included him in her icy perusal. “An ambush.”

“This is no ambush.” With palms spread, the elf was the picture of sincerity. Thorin didn’t buy it.

Nor, it seemed, did the dryad. “Please,” she said with scorn. “If you wanted answers, you could have asked in a nonthreatening manner with the Company present. You didn’t even include Thorin until he put his foot down.”

Thorin faced her fully and allowed his lips to twitch. 

“Radagast entrusted you to me,” Gandalf entreated, the old man’s face open and friendly. “We do need answers.” 

“Why?” Thorin pressed. “What is it you fear so? So she has read about our world. Aleks told us about the books when we found him. This is no surprise. Why do you see a threat where none exists?”

Silence stretched on as the two refused to answer him. Thorin’s anger climbed another notch. Always with these elves and wizards there was a sense that they believed themselves to be _more_ than the shorter-lived peoples. Superior, as if their longevity gave them exclusive claim to wisdom. They held things back, just as they were doing now. 

“The White Council,” the girl said, her voice still containing that hollow note that had him worried. 

“What?” Thorin asked as Gandalf startled and Elrond asked - kindly enough, Thorin admitted to himself - “How did you hear that term?”

She shifted in her seat until her back was wedged against one corner and she faced them. Her eyes locked upon Thorin, once more not making eye contact but staring at his chest. 

“What is the White Council?” he asked, his hand thrusting out to silence the elf and wizard. What she was about to reveal was important. He could detect it in the air. 

“Wizards,” she whispered. “Elves. A council to keep watch over Middle Earth and protect it.” A ghost of a bitter smile, one that cracked her stern control of her face for the second that it lasted. “They mean well, but I don’t believe any hobbits, men, or dwarves are ever invited to the table.”

A council? Was she implying that this council took it upon itself to decide matters affecting all? 

“They will discuss your quest when they meet the day after Midyear’s Day,” she added with a weary sigh. 

Something stilled within Thorin. “What do you know of my quest?”

Had he not been watching her so closely, he would have missed it - the tiniest flare of the eyes. Then she shut down like before, her gaze almost flinching away from him. 

“It seems she is a greater danger than I feared,” Gandalf said. 

Thorin’s shoulders and chest tightened. _Fool._ With pronouncements of doom like that, the girl would never trust them. She’d never open up. “Are her words true? About this council and that they intend to pass judgment upon my quest?” he demanded, turning his attention back to the two. 

Bombur chose that moment to enter, his brother and cousin at his back. They’d come armed and riled. _Protective of her, just as I suspected._ Oh, he didn’t begrudge her their concern. The lass clearly needed it. But he’d yet to pin down her intentions or unravel the mystery of the twins’ past. He did not yet completely trust her.

How this mess might be untangled, he hadn’t the faintest idea. So many things he needed to accomplish – his questions answered, the lass protected, his dwarves shielded from her if need be, his map read by Elrond, and all of them free from Rivendell – and some seemed diametrically opposed to each other. He was on a tightrope, and any misstep could cause disaster for himself, his dwarves, or his naiads. 

“Just Bombur,” Thorin commanded before they could cross the threshold. “Bofur, Bifur, you may remain outside these doors.”

The two inclined their heads and pulled the doors closed in their wake. Bombur walked to him, his gaze flicking to the lass. 

“Join us, Master Bombur.”

“Aye,” the heavy cook said. Without waiting for permission, the dwarf dragged a large chair to her side and hopped up upon it, resting his arm so that it brushed hers. 

Satisfied, Thorin returned to the other two. Daphne knew something of their world and the events transpiring around them. He’d let the questions be asked, he felt he had to now that she’d betrayed knowledge of his quest, but he’d do the asking. 

“What is it you need asked?” he murmured to the two. 

Another short glance between them, and then Elrond answered. “She was found within the ancient ruins of Dol Guldur. We need to determine if she was called there by a dark power. If she knows of events in our world, such a power would dearly love to get its hands upon her.”

“Why would it let her go if it took such pains to summon her?” Thorin asked. 

“I said _if,_ my king. Radagast vouched for her to Gandalf, yet he also tells us an evil has claimed those ruins. We must know all that happened there.”

“As well as the nature of her knowledge of Middle Earth,” Gandalf interjected. “Thorin, I do not need to tell you what damage she could wreak if she somehow possessed knowledge of our future.”

Thorin bit back his impatience. Knowledge of the future? Any dwarf knew the future was not written in stone. It was chiseled and redirected by every generation, a winding path with unexpected loops and pitfalls. “The future?”

Lord Elrond spoke up. “The White Council meets in three days, a fact which not even Gandalf had yet been apprised. Yet she knew of it.” The elf held his gaze, unflinching. “The Council was formed to counter the Dark Lord, Sauron.”

“Sauron was defeated,” Thorin said, rubbing one brow. “Must we revisit the past for bogeymen?” 

“He isn’t gone.” At Daphne’s comment, they all turned to her, Thorin taken aback by her words. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, noting the careful look Bombur now bestowed upon her. 

Her hands twisted together. “So long as the Ring exists, he cannot die,” she said, her tongue touching her upper lip. “The Council has to remain vigilant until he is destroyed.”

His gaze collided with Bombur’s. The younger dwarf’s concern was mirrored in his own eyes, he knew. Yet, what did this have to do with them? Why would a Council formed to safeguard against that one concern itself with his quest or Erebor? Or a lass from another realm who’d read one book too many?

“Do you see now?” Gandalf asked him in an undertone. The wizard stroked his beard, a pained expression on his face. “She knows things she should not.”

Thorin grunted in the back of his throat. “Things she read in a book.” Why must he reiterate this fact to them? 

“Be that as it may, we must be sure,” Gandalf said in appeal. “There are greater things at stake than you can possibly imagine Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror.”

Sauron. He walked a few paces away, fingers resting upon his wide leather belt. What ring? More, how could a creature slain so long ago yet exist? Questions. Questions he felt certain he’d receive no answers to from this… _White Council._

Thorin lifted a chair and set it down before the young naiad. Flicking his long jacket out of the way, he seated himself.

OoOoOo

“Mistress Hunt,” Thorin said, his voice calm. “Will you not look upon me?”

Should I? I’d already made more than one mistake. Heavens, when would I learn to _keep my mouth shut?_ My parents’ faces swam before me, and condemnation froze my throat. Stupid. I knew what was at stake. Bombur’s hand, warm and strong, captured my right and squeezed it. 

I bowed my head. Who to trust? I knew from the books that each of the people in the room fell under the “good guy” heading. But even good guys made mistakes. Look at Thranduil and his abandonment of the dwarves of Erebor. I was terrified of a misstep. I had enough innocent blood on my hands. I couldn’t bear one drop more, much less the blood of an entire world if things got knocked off track. 

My hand returned Bombur’s clasp with interest. I probably cut off circulation to his fingers, but he said nothing in protest. My eyes slid to the side, peeking at him from beneath my choppy locks. Brown eyes met mine. The genuine concern I read there gave me the strength to next meet Thorin’s eyes. 

I ventured no further. Aleks’s statements, added to my own, had resulted in a damning combination. I didn’t have it in me to seek confirmation of Gandalf’s or Elrond’s deductions. 

“First, understand that you are under my protection,” Thorin said. The sunlight filtering in through the window touched his hair, accentuating the few gray strands at his temples. He looked more regal and powerful than ever. “No one touches you without going through me.”

“Us,” Bombur added.

“Us,” Thorin agreed in all seriousness. It touched me. But then Thorin opened his mouth again. “If you betray me, know that nothing would stop me from seeking retribution. My justice will be swift and merciless.”

In other words, hell hath no fury like a Thorin scorned. Yeah, that made me want to open up. I slowly withdrew my hand from Bombur’s and stood. Thorin rose in tandem, those iron-gray eyes watchful. 

“I woke up in Dol Guldur,” I said without inflection. “My last memories of my world are disjointed. I remember fear. Aleks in pain. Any time I try to remember, I see a pair of blue-green eyes that I don’t recognize. An Old One, I presume.” My gaze cut to Elrond. “A fae of immense power,” I clarified. Back to Thorin. “I woke terrified.” A snort of self-mockery. Understatement. “It was like the air itself was full of fear. I…ah…” and here my voice wobbled, “I was running before I really woke up.” My gaze was drawn to Elrond as if by magnets. “I saw a shadow. At first, I thought I was hallucinating.” I dropped my eyes and turned from them, stepping to a window with my arms locked around myself. 

“A shadow?” Elrond asked sharply. 

I nodded blindly, shivering with remembered fear. “It… It was near a statue. When it vanished, I thought it was a trick of the light, but the terror…” I waved a hand helplessly, facing them once more. “I hid. I spotted this little alcove and dove for it.” Another snort. “Barely fit inside.”

Thorin stared at his feet, hand rhythmically tapping against Orcrist’s hilt. “A shadow,” he repeated. 

“I know. Nuts, right?” I asked. When he looked up, I shrugged and cleared my throat. “I thought so, too, but the terror wouldn’t go away.” I looked back out the window, hands coming to either side of the window frame, bracketing it. “But then night fell.”

“You were there at night?” Gandalf this time. 

My nod was a jerky bob of the head. “Yeah. I thought…” I halted to clear my throat as it grew thick. “I thought I was in Faerie.” To Thorin, “Did Aleks tell you of it?”

Thorin’s slow-motion nod wasn’t too convincing. “Some,” he said.

“What is Faerie?” Lord Elrond glided across the room to stand at the window next to mine, his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Hell, my Lord Elrond. Faerie is Hell. It is a land of illusion where the powerful play with the less gifted. To be in Faerie is to not be able to trust anything you see, hear, smell, or touch. Any or all senses can be the conduit through which an Old One lies to you. People who escape from there have one thing in common.” A bleak look at the elf. “They are insane. They babble about great beauty and terrifying realities. Many recount being hunted, or being slowly skinned alive, yet their flesh is intact. Some swear they lived on fictitious worlds and did remarkable things.” 

I pressed my forehead to the warm glass and stared out at the gardens below. “Worse, if you end up in Faerie and don’t believe what you see and hear, you stop being able to believe in anything. What is real? What is not? It all becomes very gray.”

“Leading to insanity,” Elrond stated with a measure of compassion. “You believed yourself in this…Faerie?”

“Wholeheartedly.” A bitter laugh. “I thought Radagast some fae construct sent to lure me into believing this was Middle Earth.” A real smile, though sad. I slid to a seat on the floor beneath the window, my back to the wall. To Gandalf, “I yelled at him.”

“Radagast?” the wizard asked.

“The same,” I confirmed. “I asked him why he was playing with me that way. I accused him…” My hand lifted and dropped helplessly. “I accused him.”

“What changed your mind?” Thorin asked. 

I hugged my knees and let my chin rest upon them. To mention Thranduil now would turn him against me, so I prevaricated. “The trees.”

“Trees?” Bombur asked, hunching forward in his seat. 

“I’m a dryad,” I said with a half-shrug. “The trees of Mirkwood saved Radagast and me when we escaped Dol Guldur.” Back to Gandalf and Elrond. “And for the record, when you meet with the White Council? Radagast wasn’t exaggerating about the situation there. A necromancer owns the ruins, and he is raising up an army of undead wraiths. We barely escaped them.”


	12. Olive Branches

### Chapter 11

Cool water tickled my bare toes with each pass of my legs as I kicked them back and forth from my seat upon the low bridge. My charcoal stick flew across the page as I tried to capture the tranquility of the scene around me. Maples and elms whispered to me gleefully, so much more awake than my poor heroes in Mirkwood. 

_I haven’t forgotten you,_ I promised them. _I’ll find a way to return._

The lines of the stream looked better to me this time around. I allowed myself a self-satisfied smile, my tongue captured between my teeth. _Progress._

I’d fled my guest room hours before upon waking from a nightmare so intense my bedclothes had been damp with sweat. I should have expected it - my first solid night of sleep since Beorn’s on top of having to recount everything for the men. By the time I’d satisfied them, I was all but shaking in remembered fear. I’d had a death grip on Bombur as he’d led me to my room. _Bombur._ One of Aleks’s dwarves, for heaven’s sake. With Bofur and Bifur marching behind like some lady’s guard or something. 

My gaze returned to my work in progress, and I curled my lip. A second later, it was a wadded-up ball tossed over my shoulder, joining its fellow rejects littering the ground behind me. “I really need to find a better hobby,” I muttered, once more putting charcoal stick to paper. 

“Good day, my lady.”

Sketch pad and charcoal stick went flying as I squawked in surprise. In the hours I’d been here, I’d seen nary a soul – the reason I’d felt free to let my guard drop. To have my solitude interrupted did _not_ fill me with happy-happy, joy-joy sentiments.

I plastered my mask into place before turning around, only to drop it upon spotting Bilbo. “Bilbo!” I greeted with a bright smile. How could I not welcome him warmly? No, he was not a child. He was a grown man in his own right. But his small stature and sincere face, plus the feeling that I knew him after reading the book so often, all prodded me to react as if he was a long lost friend. 

Delusion or not, I needed it after the evening and night I’d had. 

His answering lift of the lips was a tad less certain than mine. “Oh, er, hello.” He bowed at the waist. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” A hesitant step forward. “Do we know each other?”

My own smile wilted at the edges. “Only by reputation,” I said with a short laugh, my attention returning to the blank piece of paper staring up at me. 

“Reputation? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” The hobbit padded nearer until his shadow was cast next to mine in the water. 

“Son of Belladonna Took, yet a Baggins all the same,” I announced, offering him a short smile, distracted as my charcoal flew across the page, once more aspiring to capture the magnificence of this small stream I’d discovered. It was neither the most robust nor the most beautiful to be found in Rivendell. It was…understated, yet enchanting in its own way. A quieter beauty that had to be searched out, not flamboyant or flashy. This river hid her charms from the flighty observer Yet to the one willing to sit and watch, she sparkled indeed. 

_I’ll never capture it._

“How did you…?” Bilbo tugged at his coat hem as if girding himself. “You are Aleks’s twin, I know. He told me your world has books about us.”

“About Middle Earth, yes indeed,” I said as I attempted to add the stately elm standing tall beside a crook in the stream. 

“That’s not right,” Bilbo said.

“What?”

“The shape of the bole.” A stubby finger tapped at my scribbling. “It has that notch about here,” he said, indicating what he meant. 

I scrutinized the tree, then my drawing. Bah, he was right. I tore that page out and crumpled it, too. 

“I have never seen paper so fine.” He bent down out of sight and returned with a wad of paper in his hands, smoothing it out. “Oh, dear,” he said upon seeing the mess inside. “I do not believe this is your area of expertise,” he said with furrowed brow.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered. Catching sight of his worried look, I rubbed my nose with a sheepish smile. “I draw because I must, but I know I have no talent for it.”

“No, you really do not.” Instant horror filled his eyes at his blurted truth, and I peeled out in laughter. “Oh my. I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said with a grin his way. “It’s the truth.” Softer to myself, “I value the truth.”

One foot tapped against the edge of the bridge as he cocked his head at me. “You are not what I expected.”

_I bet not._ “Let me guess. You were picturing an ogre.”

“An…ogre? What is that?”

“A lesser fae monster. Eats the children of other peoples. Never mind. What I mean is that you like Aleks. You figure he had good reason to detest me. You expect me to be a monster.”

He _hmm_ ed under his breath. “Perhaps. Of a sort.” With a big inhale, he broached, “May I ask? What it was that came between you?”

It was the nicest way of asking I’d ever heard. But talking about it was like pulling off fingernails with tweezers, slow and painful. “I won’t talk about it,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “I-I _can’t._ But you are right. Aleks has a valid reason for hating me. I did something, something wrong and stupid.” I abandoned my attempts at capturing the stream in favor of my favorite subject, finding comfort in drawing familiar patterns. “It cost him everything, and I can never undo what I’ve done.” The horizontal body appeared first, then my charcoal added the four legs beneath the trunk. A cute face. Floppy ears.

“What is that?” Bilbo asked with false cheer, leaping at the chance to change the subject. 

“It’s a Clumber Spaniel,” I said, turning the page this way and that before us. “Though, it doesn’t look much like the real deal.”

“A…dog?” he asked with brows raised. 

My smile returned, and I laughed. “Doesn’t look like one, does it?”

“No,” he agreed with humor in his eyes and mock pity on his face. “It really doesn’t. I’ve never heard of a Clumber Spaniel.”

I continued to add features to my sketch. “They’re…gentlemanly. Laid back. Aleks and I both have a thing for dogs, but with Marcus, that never happened.”

“Oh?” Baffled eyes met mine.

“Werewolves and dogs don’t mix,” I explained. “Werewolves are all about dominance. The males challenge each other all the time, especially among the lower ranks. Testing themselves and each other. Throw a dog into the mix, and most breeds will either wet themselves, have a heart attack, or grow aggressive and attack any werewolf in reach.”

“So no dog.”

“No. But don’t tell Aleks.”

Bilbo seated himself beside me, his feet not quite reaching the shimmery stream. “Don’t tell him what, exactly?”

“That I like dogs. Ever since--” I backed up with a shaking inhale. “We used to be so close,” I found myself confiding in the hobbit. “The best of friends. But a-after I did what I did, anything I liked, he automatically hated. If I believed in God, he became the most devout atheist ever born. I loved the stories about your world. He refused to read them. If I said the sky was blue, he’d say it was green just to disagree with me.”

A gentle, hesitant touch on my left sleeve. “You miss him.”

“He hates me.”

“You still miss him.”

OoOoOo

Guilt plagued Aleks. It had kept him up long through the night and pulled him from slumber much too soon. Walking down one of Rivendell’s numerous garden paths, he had his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders rounded. Any stray stone in his path was jettisoned from its place with a well-placed, solid kick.

 _Don’t do it._

That voice pestered him with every step. He was growing really tired of it. What, was he supposed to sit back and watch while the chit destroyed his new life, too? How could he not act to save himself?

No. No matter how guilty he might feel, nothing was going to stop him from defending himself. He had a plan. A masterpiece, really. Bottom line: he needed her to go away. She’d stolen everything from him. _Everything._

Aleks inhaled shakily, furious that guilt could even touch him. He was the injured party here. Not her. 

Events were spinning out of control. He had to fix things. He had to. First, he’d need to win her trust. Lure her in. Then, he’d tip her over the edge. His hands would be clean, and she’d be gone. 

Thumbing a tab from a roll of Tums, he chewed the lozenge and swallowed. 

_Dude, buck up. She won’t care. She doesn’t care about anyone or anything._

He had to do it. He had to.

OoOoOo

Thorin had paced all night.

 _White Council._ He’d been stonewalled. He had two days until Lord Elrond could read the hidden text upon his map, so he and his Company were stuck in this _elvish_ place until then. No strong, stone walls around him, no roaring fires and malt beer. The elves’ way of life was not his own, and he felt ill at ease. That their arrogance knew no bounds filled him with anger. Elves and their plots and secrets. 

_They think us foolish and childlike because we lack their longevity._ He’d caught himself thinking more than once that perhaps the First Born had been given their immortality simply because they could not learn as other peoples. They required that time to reach any maturity or true wisdom.

An elf maid – or was it a lord? – greeted him as she strode by. Thorin inclined his head. Truth be told, it was difficult at times to tell their genders apart.

His thoughts returned to Erebor. It was a fire in his veins, a desire that would not be quenched until he’d reclaimed his homeland. Yet, underneath that, the lass’s words haunted him. Sauron. That was a name he’d never dreamed he’d ever hear uttered with fear. The enemy had been vanquished long before Thorin’s time. 

Lord Elrond had spoken of what he knew, having been witness to Sauron’s defeat at the hands of the man, Isildur. He’d had the distinct impression the elf shielded facts from him, glossing over what he did not wish to share. Was it pertaining to Sauron’s defiance of the grave, however that had come about? 

Now, tales of a necromancer, tales that put fear into Gandalf’s eyes. _Rumors and shadows._ The wizard had no proof of his claims, nor did the elven lord, yet their very uneasiness caused him to check the impulse to simply dismiss their fears. 

_What is a necromancer? What type of foul thing could it be to wield power over the dead?_

His steps slowed to hear laughter up ahead. Was that a child? Curiosity compelled his steps down a flight of stairs and across a minor bridge until he was intercepted by Bofur. The toymaker placed one finger to his lips in a wordless request for silence. He jerked his chin, directing Thorin’s attention below. 

Thorin parted a clump of waving fronds from a bush and looked down to where yet another bridge spanned a thin creek. There, Bilbo and the naiad lass – Daphne, he’d learned her name was – sat with a young lad of the race of men. The three formed a circle with thin rectangular objects in their hands, their attention fixed upon the ground before them. Daphne’s tongue appeared between her teeth as she looked at the objects in her hands and then the other items on the ground. With a narrow-eyed look at his burglar, she placed a swatch of paper down. She and the child chortled aloud as Bilbo groaned theatrically. 

“You broke my pick ax!” Bilbo shook a fist at the naiad, which sent the child into fits of laughter. 

“You made it too easy, Master Baggins,” she replied in a lofty tone. “You, sir, are a saboteur.”

Bilbo sat up straight in affront. “I said no such thing.”

“You played a dead-end card. You tipped us off.”

“I had to play a card!”

She lifted one brow, unimpressed with his protestations. “Sab-o-teur,” she reiterated.

“What are they doing?” Thorin asked Bofur in a low voice. 

Bofur scratched his bearded jaw and shrugged. “See, the lass and Bilbo were chatting away when the child joined them. Seems he’s been listening at doors and had all kinds of question for the lass. When he asked her what Dol Guldur was like, she pulled out the game.”

“Diverting him.” 

“Aye,” Bofur agreed with a lopsided grin. “The lass is good with the lad.”

Thorin took in the open expression on the girl’s face. She beamed at Bilbo with a wide grin, bumping her shoulder into the hobbit’s as she murmured something too low for Thorin to hear. The child looked on with adoration, hanging on to her every word.

“You’ve been guarding her?” Thorin asked lowly.

“Oh, aye, that we have,” Bofur said, his mustache twitching as he rocked back on his heels. “In shifts, we have. Lass left her room before dawn looking as if a pack of wargs was on her tail.”

Nightmares, he imagined. Thorin didn’t know what evil she’d encountered in that elven ruin other than what her words the night before revealed, but they were sufficient to paint a chilling picture. 

“Who is the child?” Thorin asked as he considered what to do about the naiad. She and Aleks could not travel together, not as things stood, yet he had no wish to leave her in the care of the wizard or his elvish friends. They had too many questions. Leaving her at their disposal gave him significant pause. 

“Introduced himself as Estel,” Bofur said. “Lord Elrond’s foster son.”

Thorin’s brows winged upwards. Perhaps he’d have to reassess his views of Rivendell’s lord. 

Just then, Aleks came into view. Bofur whistled between his teeth, a quiet, uncertain sound. The two dwarves watched as the satyr did a double-take upon spotting his sister and her companions. Emotion twisted his face, there and gone again before Thorin could identify it. The lad hesitated, watching the unaware trio. 

“Do you suppose we could chain their legs together and lock them in a room for a week? Mayhap they’ll come out speaking.”

“Either that, or one won’t survive it,” Thorin drawled, amused at the idea. “Keep watch, my friend.” Clapping him on the back, Thorin walked away, his mind returning to Sauron, the White Council, and a necromancer in southern Mirkwood.

OoOoOo

Aleks strolled towards the three, his mind racing through possible approaches. If he acted kind up front, she’d never believe him. And he needed her to, if only to push her further in the direction he wanted her to go.

Bilbo spotted him first. The hobbit’s brows lifted, and his attention darted to Daphne, concern darkening his countenance. Concern. For _her._ It rekindled Aleks’s fury. _Hold it in._ He plastered an expression of reluctance and distaste across his features and stepped nearer.

“Bilbo.”

Daphne jerked violently. Aleks found himself enjoying it. _Scared of me, are you?_ Yet, that small part of him felt guilty for his instant pleasure. _What kind of sicko enjoys frightening women?_ Immediately, _She’s no woman. She’s the Ice Princess._ The one who’d destroyed the life he should have had. 

“Master Aleks,” Bilbo greeted with reserve. 

Aleks attempted a smile but knew it was lackluster. Which worked, actually. “Who’s your friend?”

The child in question was a lanky boy of perhaps ten years with intense blue-gray eyes and a dark mop of black hair. He wore sturdy breeches in a charcoal color and a tunic in a lighter shade. Human, Aleks noted by both ear-shape and bare feet. 

The boy rose to his feet, his hand tight around a fistful of cards. “Estel, son of Elrond,” the child informed him with a short bow. 

Aleks barely paid attention, waving his words off. “Daphne, might I have a word with you?”

The Ice Princess stared up at him, her face, as always, revealing nothing. How could he have shared a womb with this creature? To Bilbo and Estel, she said, “You two go ahead. Estel broke my trolley anyway.” 

She followed Aleks from the path near a bush-covered rise, then waited with cool composure as he glared down at her. 

“Look, its no secret that there is no love lost between us,” he said, his voice harsher than he’d hoped. It was the best he could manage. 

No response.

“We’re both stuck here, so we should at least try to coexist peacefully. I suggest a truce.” 

A pause. “Is this a joke?” No inflection. He might as well be chatting up his PC back home. 

His frown gained weight. “No, it’s not a joke,” he bit out. As he considered what to say next, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He took a hard look around. _Just the kid,_ he decided, for the kid was watching him like a hawk. It was cute, or would be if he’d gotten protective of any other female. Maybe he should warn the little guy. 

“Well?” he burst out after he felt he’d waited long enough for her to answer a simple question. 

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?” 

“Why now? It isn’t as if we haven’t been alone for nine years,” she said.

“And who’s fault is that?” he snapped, the words rushing from him before he could stop them.

She walked away.

“We’re supposed to be family!” he roared after her. 

Daphne stopped as if she’d slammed into a wall and turned to him in slow increments. “Excuse me?” she whispered, a thread of anger appearing at last. 

“You heard me. I’m reaching out. We’re family.”

She stared at him and the minutes trickled by in slow succession. The dull roar of the nearby waterfall was the only thing protecting them from complete silence. Bilbo and Estel were mute in the background, neither bothering to feign indifference. 

“What do you want, Aleks?” she asked. 

“I want…” He swallowed, girding himself. He had to do this. “We are the only two from our world in this place. You are the only one alive who will understand my references. Nori asked me about being stranded, and I made an E.T. joke. He didn’t get it. None of them did. They can’t. They haven’t seen the things we’ve seen, or heard the songs we’ve heard. They don’t have Christmas or the Easter Bunny, and they sure haven’t heard of the Tooth Fairy.”

She was buying it. Elation filled him. The hard corners of her mouth softened, and the creases upon her brow vanished. The Ice Princess was thawing. _Maybe she does have a heart._ Guilt mixed with a sense of satisfaction, but he ignored it. This would make his task easier. 

“I thought we could at least be polite to each other,” he concluded with a helpless little shrug, hoping he wasn’t dishing it out too thick.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated. That was it? 

A small, sad smile appeared on her face. Aleks felt rooted to the spot, his heart freezing mid-beat. Was that _emotion?_

“We try,” she said. She fiddled with a hank of hair, twisting it and shoving it behind one ear. She turned back to her companions, then shot him a timid look. “You can join us. If you like. Saboteur. I think Marcus put it in the wrong bag.”

Since that game was Marcus’s favorite, and the cards jealously guarded, Aleks didn’t doubt that. Still, it was fun. And useful. Maybe if he could get the dwarves to play, she’d relax her guard even more.

Besides, Saboteur featured dwarves. He figured Kíli at least would get a kick out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saboteur belongs to Z-man games. Since the family enjoys it so much, I couldn't resist adding it. :)


	13. Chopped

### Chapter 12

Aleks wanted to fix things.

Shock followed me throughout that hand of _Saboteur._

My twin took a seat beside me. _Me._ He helped shuffle and deal the cards, joking with Bilbo and Estel. Though not as free with me, he tried. When his face turned my way, the disgust was gone, and when he addressed me, he was civil.

_Have the Body Snatchers struck?_ Did Middle Earth _have_ aliens? I was tempted to check out the sky for flying saucers. 

I caught Bilbo’s look of pure sympathy more than once. I could feel my face trying to return to protective blankness but somehow, it just didn’t happen. With a few simple words, Aleks had destroyed my world and my composure with all the finality of a bomb going off. I felt ripped of all defenses, as exposed as if I’d been stripped of every scrap of clothing and chucked into Central Square. 

Aleks wanted to _fix things._

A little-girl part of me rejoiced that my brother was back, uncaring how or why. She just wanted to hold him tight and not let go. The adult part of me couldn’t begin to formulate full sentences. The person who’d demeaned and mocked me for nine years straight had shouted that we were family. It felt like the rug had been yanked from under my feet. I had no idea what to feel. No idea what to do.

All through that hand of _Saboteur,_ throughout the afternoon and evening that followed, his words played through my mind with such ferocity that I sleep-walked in a muddled, emotional daze. I was hyper-aware of his presence and each word he spoke, a part of me scrutinizing every nuance, desperate to believe. Afraid to believe. 

_Aleks_ wanted to fix things? 

It occurred to me to wonder again if this wasn’t Faerie. This was something for which I’d yearned for so long, and with such intensity. I should have been jubilant. Instead, as the day progressed I could barely goad myself to speak. Hope warred with fear, and fear was winning. I wanted this so badly, yet the thought of being vulnerable, of risking my heart to Aleks, frightened me in a way only Dol Guldur could approach. 

By the time dinner wrapped up, I could take the tension no more. Like the basest of cowards, I excused myself from the dwarves and Aleks and pretty much made tracks. My feet developed a mind of their own, too, for I didn’t arrive back at my quarters as I’d intended. I ended up in the elves’ gardens. 

Peaceful, drowsy murmurings came from the lush, healthy vegetation, and as I let them wash over me, I was finally able to take a deep breath. I kicked off my borrowed shoes and paced through thick grass, greeting the greenery with relief. _Home._ This felt more like home than sitting at a table with a group of people boisterously welcoming me. What did that say? 

_What are you doing, Daphne?_

My lips twisted. All I’d ever hoped for, and Aleks had offered it up on a silver plate. So what did idiot me do? Quietly freak out and slink off to hide. With hands wringing, I wore holes in the grass, pacing and pacing. 

Was I really so damaged? So broken I couldn’t bear to accept what I most longed for? I fought the idea, yet it persisted to nag at the corners of my mind. Beorn had been nothing but kind, yet I’d held him at arm’s length. I was doing the same here. I should be in there with Aleks and the Company, laughing and getting to know my brother. Probing the boundaries of this new-found olive branch. 

_I don’t want to be alone anymore,_ a tired part of me cried. I sniffled away tears, fighting the torrent of emotions racing through me and angry about the whole thing. I did not want to cry anymore. I’d sworn – _sworn_ – never to shed another tear, especially over Aleks. Yet, here I was. 

_Intruder,_ a chorus of white moon flowers whispered. 

My spine snapped straight, and my head whipped around. I relaxed the instant I recognized the silhouette of Bombur’s substantial girth padding down the terrace steps to my level. He stepped out into the light of flickering lanterns illuminating the gardens.

“Lass, what are you doing out here all alone?” he asked, his round face creased with lines of concern. His hands stroked down two of the three fat braids adorning his dark beard. 

“Being alone?” I offered with a helpless little shrug, one hand reaching down to pluck a small twig of rosemary from the bush beside me. My fingers shredded needles from the stem with agitated precision.

Bombur stopped in his tracks. Two palms lifted in my direction. It was obvious he was getting ready to vacate the area in respect of my wishes. 

“No, Bombur,” I said, facing him. “Please. Stay.” A wry twist of the lips. “I could use a break from my own thoughts.” I toyed with the spring, rotating it between two fingers. 

A short smile, and he walked to my side, hands clasped across his belly. Without a word said, we meandered through the garden in silence. Bombur really was a gentle soul, I decided. If asked, I would have guessed it would be Bofur who would seek out the missing party member, but I was glad I was wrong. Nothing against Bofur – not even close, for he’d been very friendly – but at that moment, I needed company more than wit or conversation. Bombur gave that freely with a seemingly endless supply of patience. 

The gift of his undemanding company restored some semblance of calm to my psyche. Minutes passed. A quarter hour, maybe more. As we followed the garden’s winding path, I bent at the waist to sniff an evening primrose, delighted to find it. The bloom smelled of spring to me, fresh and revitalizing. “ _Amma_ would love this place,” I said, abruptly ending the moratorium on speech. 

“Aye?” Another smile.

“This is probably boring you,” I said with a soft laugh. 

He shrugged. “I’ll admit, I’ve given little thought to plants that I cannot put into the cook pot,” he said with a wink. Then, “Who is _‘Amma’?_ A friend from home, perhaps?”

The laugh that escaped me next was so bitter I winced. _Dope._ What was I doing, opening up, anyway? With Aleks’s words ringing in my head, I’d lost sight of the big picture, too focused upon his peace offering to remember any slip could really mess things up for Middle Earth. 

Including Bombur.

But… What harm in talking about Earth? I chafed my arms. 

“You cannot do that, lass,” Bombur said, interrupting the downward, darkening spiral of my thoughts. 

“Hmm?”

He halted me with one hand to my arm. “A simple cook I may be, but I know what I see. It pains me to see you hide from us. You’re Aleks’s twin. That makes you ours. You can trust me. I’ll not go bearing tales.”

So much in those few sentences struck me. My composure fragmented again. I blinked back tears, aghast at just how _gone_ my defenses were. “You belong to Aleks,” I said with a jerky lift of one shoulder.

“I belong to…” His head reared back, and one finger rubbed the side of his nose. “Unless you naiads collect people like a dwarf his tools, I’m not following you, lassie.” He leaned closer, hands dropping. In a stage whisper, “He’s not likely to insist upon hanging us up on pegs one day, will he?”

Another laugh, this one genuine. Bombur smiled a sweet smile in response and again clasped his hands over his belly. We resumed our walk. 

_“Amma_ means ‘mother’,” I explained. “Did… Did Aleks not tell you of our home?” I broached, wondering how much they knew. Oh, the dwarves knew we were from Earth, but how much detail had Aleks given them? 

“Some,” Bombur said, one finger again a-rub upon his nose. “To tell the truth, the lad is a bit close-lipped. We heard about things called werewolves and the lesser fae.” A short look. “He never mentioned food such as the treat you shared with me yesterday.” And did Bombur ever sound disapproving of the oversight. 

My lips curled up in a ghost of a grin. “Rude of him.”

Bombur nodded emphatically, his walnut-colored eyes gleaming. “Aye, lass. Very.”

I nudged his side with mine. “It’s called chocolate.”

“Chocolate,” he repeated with satisfaction. “Never have I had the like.”

“A connoisseur of your stature? Oh, the horror,” I said. 

He halted in his tracks, beaming down at me with this huge grin. “Aleks told us—” 

“Aye, here they are,” a new voice declared. Bombur and I turned in unison to find Bofur and Bifur heading our way, Bofur ushering a happy-looking Estel beside him. To me, Bofur added in a teasing voice, “Seems someone forgot she promised Estel a story this evening.”

_Oh, shoot._ I had. Estel might be ten years old and too mature for a traditional bedtime story, but he adored books. No, really, _adored._ Elrond’s library was impressive, but for a ten-year-old boy longing for adventure, its offerings were slim indeed. The dry historical prose that constituted the majority of Elrond’s tomes could not compare to the snippet I’d read to him earlier. 

I scrunched my face in apology as I made my way to them. “Estel, I am so sorry,” I said. “I completely forgot.” 

“So we are all here for a story,” Bofur concluded with a flourish, winking at me. 

“A little old for story time before bed, aren’t you?” I asked the younger toymaker with a half-grin. “Is Bifur going to tuck you in when we’re done?” To Bifur, “Can you tuck someone into a bedroll?” 

Bifur, Bombur and Estel laughed. Bofur simply smiled, hands on his hips as he rocked back upon his heels. 

Turning to Estel, I asked, “What did you wish to hear? Are we continuing with _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?_ Or would you like to hear something else?”

“Witch?” Bombur echoed. To his brother, “Did she just say ‘witch’?”

“What I’ll be asking is what a witch wants with a wardrobe,” Bofur quipped. 

“Perhaps she’s a well-dressed witch?” Bombur asked. 

Bofur pursed his lips, eyes to the sky as shook his head. Estel and I watched with matching grins. “Nay, I cannot see it,” Bofur decreed. “Much less a lion vying for the apparel.” Tugging on one earlobe, he mused, “A lion dressing as a lass.” To me: “That’s a mite…unusual a story, there.” Back to Bombur, “Mayhap the lion scares the witch _into_ the wardrobe?”

Estel shook his head, his eyes flicking heavenward but the grin not diminishing one iota. 

“I’ll get the book,” I said. Nibbling on one fingernail, I skipped up the steps from the garden to the terrace above. I wondered if they had popcorn in Middle Earth. Oh, this wouldn’t be quite like watching a flick, but it was as close as I could recreate for Estel and myself. Estel, in my opinion, needed time to be a kid. Elves were great, but they were formal. I couldn’t imagine the pressure a child would be under – a human child – to conform to their standards of propriety. How stifling would such an upbringing be, despite the love lavished upon him? 

So. A present for Estel and me both. Snacks would be a must. If not popcorn, there had to be something junk-food-like in Elrond’s kitchens. Cookies. Muffins. Something.

OoOoOo

Guilt. _Rage._ Guilt.

Aleks slumped onto a white stone bench, one of hundreds he’d passed while roaming through Rivendell. He rubbed his forehead, furious and scared and torn. _Don’t do it,_ an inner voice kept urging. _It isn’t right. Don’t do it._

He didn’t want to, but he felt half crazed, a wild dog backed into a corner. Just this night, the Company had wound up at the chit’s side, parked in one of Rivendell’s gardens like they were on a nighttime picnic while Daphne had read _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe._ The entire time, she kept throwing these hopeful, shy smiles his way. Well, that and flinching as if afraid of him. Watching her was like watching a stiff, bipolar mannequin. In a word: creepy. 

With every second that passed, watching her with _his_ family, his temper flared to new heights. How dare she? How dare she cozy up to them? He ground his teeth until by all rights they should have disintegrated to powder. 

_Gah!_ Why did she have to show up again? Her presence was like salt on an open wound. Every time he looked at her, all he could see was the broken, bleeding body of his mother and remember what _she’d done._ He did not want to become the person who would do what filled his mind, but he refused to let her have any part of his life and his dwarves. 

She had to go. 

Steeling his resolve, he returned to his half-formulated plans. _I’ll need help._ He hated the necessity, but there was no way around it. The whole charade would work a lot better if he could rope some of the dwarves into it. 

_They’ll never agree._

No, they wouldn’t. But then again, they wouldn’t have to know. He felt bad to contemplate tricking them, but ultimately, he had their best interests in mind, too. They didn’t know Daphne like he did.

Aleks’s lips twisted. The role he’d consigned himself to sickened him. He’d vomited the minute he’d left the group, totally disgusted by the words he’d spoken to her, by the smile he’d plastered to his lips. It was just _wrong._ But for this to work, he had to win the chit over. She had to trust him, at least somewhat. 

He dropped his head into his hands. _Don’t do it._ His palms scrubbed over his face to either side of his nose. He felt tarnished as he contemplated it, but he had no choice. He had to do it. 

He had to.

OoOoOo

A shake roused him from deep sleep. “Wha…?” Aleks asked, the question lost in a jaw-popping yawn.

“You intend to sleep the day away?” Fíli drawled. 

“Huh?” Aleks squinted, surprised to find the sun blaring full-force through a window. “What time is it?”

“After ten o’clock,” Kíli said from somewhere nearby. “Uncle wants us all on the training field.”

Fíli’s mustache lifted in a smirk. “If we can tear you away from your beauty sleep, that is?”

Aleks grunted and pushed the squatting dwarf over with a solid shove. Both Durins laughed. Shortly thereafter, he was on the training field, working with Kíli.

OoOoOo

Thorin watched his satyr closely, all the while careful to conceal it from Aleks. By Durin, he was proud of the lad for attempting to fix the breech with his twin. Yet, the decision was taking a toll on the lad. Bags underscored his eyes, testifying to the lack of sleep he’d had.

The trail was no place for an untrained woman, yet it seemed there was no other choice but to bring the sister along. The idea of leaving Daphne with the elf lord did not sit well with him, no matter his assurances that she would be protected in Rivendell. 

_Two more days,_ he consoled himself. He had only to wait until Elrond unraveled the secrets hidden in the map, and the Company could leave.

OoOoOo

A whole day of training.

Aleks sluiced water from his hair, refreshed and happily tired. He’d needed this. Needed this time, just him and the Company. No Daphne, no pesky inner voice nagging at him. He’d lost himself in physical activity and felt worlds better for it. 

He came away more determined than ever to protect what was his. He wasn’t happy about his chosen course, but he was resigned to it. No one and nothing would take this life from him. 

Fíli was tackled by Kíli, both splashing in the fountain they’d bathed in and spraying water in all directions. The sight broke Aleks from his thoughts. More dwarves joined in the impromptu water battle. 

With a grin, Aleks dragged Nori into the mix. 

It was _on._

OoOoOo

The next few days were a dream come true. While the sun filled the sky, the Company focused their energies upon the training ground while I spent my days with Estel. I did spot Bombur, Bifur and Bofur from time to time. I got the distinct impression they were checking up on me, though they never said as much. But every time Gandalf or one of the elves came into my vicinity, one of them would pop into view all casual-like. If it had happened once, I’d call it coincidence. After the tenth time or so, that explanation stretched the bounds of credulity.

I was being guarded. My composure almost shattered all over again when I realized it. 

Estel was a fount of boundless curiosity. Learning about my dryad heritage, he wanted to know all about the trees and plants, what they thought and how they perceived things. We spent hours hiking through the protected wilderness surrounding Rivendell, and then in Elrond’s library to compare what we’d seen and discussed to what was recorded there. 

Once the sun set, the real magic began. Dressing in the gowns provided by the elves – their hospitality extended to making me three of the beautiful dresses, all in shades of green and yellow – I joined the dwarves…and Aleks. My fear of betraying information dangerous to Oakenshield’s Company never left, so I couldn’t quite let my hair _completely_ down, but I was able to tease them as Aleks set out _Saboteur._ The dwarves had quickly taken to the game and played with downright killer instincts. Watching them take the rounds so seriously was a hoot and a half. 

But the real joy came as Aleks spoke with me quietly. He shared with me with hesitant vulnerability, and I found myself responding. We were not bosom buddies, but oh was it a start. That tenuous link was the one thing goading me to join the Company on their quest. It was dangerous, and I knew it. There were a gazillion different ways I could mess things up or betray information they shouldn’t have. But… Aleks was talking to me. How could I pass up the chance to solidify that growing bond?

A small inner voice urged caution, saying this was too easy, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I had my twin back, and I was not going to let fear rob me of this. 

Too soon, the evening of Midyear’s Day arrived. Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo joined Elrond and Gandalf, and then the group of them departed. Elrond was going to read the hidden runes upon the map of Erebor as requested. The dwarves would discover the secret way into Erebor. 

For fear of saying something and betraying what I knew, I wandered off. I was too full of nervous, giddy energy to turn in early, but I also felt stifled by the crush of dwarves and elves in the Hall of Fire where meals were often shared. 

In search of distraction, my feet carried me into Rivendell’s kitchens, a behemoth space with white-washed cupboards, pale wooden floors, and rows of drying racks filled with herbs in varying stages of dehydration. Peeking around the door, I was surprised to find the place both pristine and empty. With the feast taking place in the Hall of Fire, I would have supposed this place would be hopping, but then I remembered: elves. They were nothing if not prepared, and I suspected the kitchen staff was now relaxing with everyone else, enjoying the fruits of their labors. 

A bit shyly, I slipped into the room. The smells of cinnamon, rosemary, and mint wafted through the air. This, I decided, was what I needed. Busyness. We dryads adored puttering in our kitchens almost as much as our gardens. If everything happened according to plan, Thorin and the dwarves – _we_ – would be leaving in the morning. I could use this time to do something I loved plus provide travel rations more appetizing to the dwarvish palate than lembas bread at the same time. 

Out came the flour, butter, and eggs. In no time at all, I was engrossed in my task, humming show tunes under my breath. I started with _The Lonely Goatherd_ from _The Sound of Music_ and from there into songs from _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers._ After a time with no interruptions, I progressed to full-on singing. 

My _appa_ had adored such tunes. Much of my legacy from him had been lost, but this hadn’t. I wondered if Aleks even remembered the tunes _Appa_ had goaded us into learning and singing with him from the time we could toddle. 

The words of _Chim Chim Cheree_ from _Mary Poppins_ faded, and I was choosing another song when the distinctive sound of a door creaking open interrupted my solitude. Heat flooded my cheeks, and my eyes flared. _Oh, please don’t let someone have heard._ Plastering a welcoming expression on my face, I slowly twisted around. 

“Oh, lass, are you in here?” Bofur said as he waltzed into the room, followed by his cousin and brother. “We were in search of some sweets for young Estel here,” he told me. It would have been convincing, a chance meeting…but for the fourth of their party. Estel couldn’t repress the huge smile on his face, though I gave him points for trying. 

“What are you four up to?” I asked, swallowing my answering grin. 

Bofur tugged on one earlobe they trooped across the room to me. Then, Bofur extended one hand with a wink. He shook my hand, then turned to Estel and repeated the gesture. A peculiar expression crossed his face, and he turned to me, glancing at his empty palm with confusion and then back to me. “Eh, lass?”

I arched one brow.

Rocking on his heels, he told me, “I don’t know how to tell you this, lass,” he started, looking all kinds of embarrassed. He lifted his right hand. “I’m not feeling any luckier.” To Estel, “Do you feel luckier?”

Estel began to laugh, but gamely shook his head. 

_Cute,_ I thought, waiting for it. 

Sure enough: “You promised, lass,” Bofur continued. Then he repeated the words he must’ve heard through the door, singing them back to me, _“Good luck will rub off as I shake hands with you.”_ As the last time he’d sung, he hammed it up, trying to match my deplorable Dick Van Dyke accent. 

I shoved him, my lips tugging upward. “How long were you listening?” 

Bofur’s lips parted to answer, but he was almost run over as his brother made a beeline for the ovens. “What is that smell?” Bombur asked. 

“That’s my brother,” Bofur murmured with feigned resignation, still grinning as his head rotated to follow his brother’s progress. That he adored Bombur was apparent by the expression on his face. 

“He has good taste,” I staunchly defended, ignoring the way Bofur’s grin brightened at my show of loyalty. I returned to what I was doing. “Cheddar pie ,” I identified to Bombur, stepping to his side. “I thought you guys would like something more than elvish bread for the journey.”

Bombur snagged one of the small, turnover-style pies and bit into it before I could intervene, chewing with enjoyment. 

“I take it you don’t object?” I asked drily. 

Bofur and Bifur each reached for their own samples, and I slapped their hands away. “These are for tomorrow,” I grumbled. 

“You wouldn’t want us to leave tomorrow and find you missed a key ingredient, now, would you, lass?” Bofur asked with wide-eyed innocence. 

Nope, not buying it. I had his measure by now. 

Bifur grunted, tweaked my cheek, and took his pastry. 

Why I bothered, I didn’t know. Throwing up my hands, I conceded, returning to Bombur. The rotund cook bestowed a crumby smile upon me. 

“Does it meet with your approval?” I continued in that same dry voice. 

He licked his fingers before nodding. “Though it lacks meat,” he censured. 

I waved that away. “Elvish kitchen,” I told him. “No meat.” I sighed, looking around. “This is like being dumped into the _Chopped_ kitchen,” I told him. At his dumbfounded look, I explained, “Back home, they had contests--”

“Contests?” Estel interrupted around his own mouthful of cheese pie. 

I nodded. “The contestants would show up and be presented a basket with a bunch of unknown ingredients. Ingredients,” I explained with an expression of exaggerated horror, “that really don’t belong together. When the contest started, they’d open their baskets and have to figure out a way to use all of the ingredients in one dish.” I smirked. “It was timed, too. The contestants had a half hour to come up with something, and then they’d be judged on taste and presentation.”

“Presentation, lass?” Bofur asked, a queer note to his voice.

I turned my smile his way. “They were scored on whether it looked good.” I shrugged. “Who wants to eat something that looks like it was scraped off the bottom of a boot?”

A slow grin crossed Bofur’s face, and his eyes traveled to each of our companions, his brows rising. 

A bit nervous at his expression, I added, “Anyway, this kitchen is full of things I haven’t used before, and it is missing a bunch more that I’m used to relying upon. Different strokes for different folks, I guess.”

Silence as Bofur grinned at me, nodding his head with hands clasped behind his back. Then with no warning, Bombur and I found ourselves hustled from the kitchen, the door firmly shut behind us. 

Um. My eyes slid sideways to Bombur. “What just happened?”

The big dwarf laughed, his belly rumbling. “I believe we are about to be forced to compete in your _Chopped_ competition.”

We were… My eyes grew big. My head whipped around towards the kitchen door. “Serious?”

Bombur folded his hands upon his belly. “I warn you, lass. I’ll show no mercy.”

I gulped.


	14. Departures

### Chapter 13

Aleks trudged along in Dwalin’s wake, his steps heavy, his jaw clenched and shoulders back. Tears clogged his throat, tears he refused to let fall. He would not feel guilty about it. He refused to.

Regret chewed away at his innards despite his resolve. 

The Company wound its way up the mountain paths carrying them above Rivendell’s valley. This was their only chance to slip away - the White Council met even now. Gandalf had promised to conceal their intentions and keep the Council distracted, giving the dwarves their chance to depart unhindered. 

Thorin walked at their helm, his broad shoulders straight and his carriage one of determination. What would the King Under the Mountain say if he knew? 

No. He wouldn’t find out. Kíli and Fíli thought it had been a grand jest, a perception Aleks had encouraged. Daphne had informed the fellowship that morning that she intended to remain behind, and Aleks had seconded her decision, telling the others that the trail was no place for a dryad who could be mortally injured by contact with metal. With wargs and orcs hunting them, the danger to her had been real, lending his words the ring of truth. 

Just not the whole truth. 

He swallowed back acidic bile. _You may have destroyed your own sister,_ that inner voice howled, urging him to turn around, to make it right. What would his father think of his actions? 

His steps flagged. _Appa._ No way would his father condone what he’d done. Nori and Dori passed him by, Dori tossing him a curious look over one shoulder. _I can fix this._ He could. Maybe if he… 

“Pick up your pace, Aleks,” came Thorin’s call. “We must be out of this valley before the White Council adjourns. Fíli, Kíli, hurry up.”

Aleks looked down upon Rivendell, nails pressed into his palms, his chest aching. 

“She’ll be alright,” Fíli assured him. The blond dwarf’s expression was not without sympathy.

“Among elves?” Kíli asked with a derisive snort. 

Fíli looked across Aleks to his younger brother. “One arrow or slice of the blade could end her. Better she stays here.” He nudged Aleks with his elbow. “Chin up, eh? We’ll send for her as soon as we’ve secured Erebor.”

Aleks forced a smile and knew it unconvincing as the brothers exchanged looks. Not knowing what to do, he allowed indecision to make the decision for him.

A minute later, they exited the Valley of Imladris.

It was too late to turn back.

OoOoOo

The dark-haired dwarf halted and glanced back. Rivendell was hidden by both trees and the curve of the valley, safely tucked away from harm, or so he hoped. Would their dryad be safe in their absence? Her subdued farewell concerned him, though well did he understand the twins’ reasoning. The road was no place for her.

He pulled a crinkled piece of paper from an inner pocket in his leather coat and smoothed out the creases. The lass had told Bilbo she’d no talent for sketching, and that had been no exaggeration. Still, he mused with a small smile, it gave him something to work with. The dog she’d attempted to capture had large, floppy ears, a long trunk and sad, droopy eyes. Of course a lass would find it adorable. 

And if he didn’t get it just right, the lass would hardly care, not if he’d judged her right. She’d told the hobbit she loved dogs, so his idea would work either way. 

His brother caught the direction of his gaze and winked at him, chuckling. He shoved the pilfered paper back out of sight. He’d receive a ribbing about this, for sure, but at least his brother would also keep the matter from the rest of the Company. 

She was a bonnie lass. Reserved any time Aleks ventured within a stone’s throw, but once her brother was out of sight, a different person had emerged altogether, one both kind and warm. It was in the company of a child, however, that the lass shined. When her guard truly dropped, she was given to laughter and teasing, such as to rival a dwarf. In her zest for life, she’d soiled her clothes crawling upon the dirt with Estel in games. Her patience with the lad had been a thing to see, as well, for not once had she wearied of the endless stream of questions Estel had tossed her way. 

Aye, bonnie indeed. Warmth filled his chest upon thought of the impish smile she’d tossed his way the day before. So. 

He’d work on his project on the way to Erebor. He’d plenty of night watches before him, nights he knew his thoughts would turn to her, replaying the animated look in her eyes as she entertained Estel with yet another tale of the strange land, Narnia. Or the way the gown the elves had provided had hugged her slim frame, showcasing her curves to full effect. He’d been blindsided for sure by the vision she’d been. Or her gentle manner with Bilbo, encouraging the hobbit that he had more to offer than he knew.

A lazy, satisfied smile crooked his lips. At his brother’s second, husky laugh, his smile grew. 

It was settled. He’d use those nights and the privacy they’d provide him to see his project done, a gift perhaps charming enough to gain a pretty lass’s attention. 

Silently whistling to himself, he marched on.

OoOoOo

Ashes. All of it, ashes and lies.

From the height of warmth and security, I’d been plummeted into the depths of Hades. My wings had proved to be paper. As the song lamented, they took me only high enough to really fall. 

And fall, I had. 

The walls closed in upon me, and panic had me by the jugular. “I c-can’t stay,” I told the elf as I brushed past him, my bag over one shoulder. 

“My lady,” he objected. 

No. I couldn’t remain in Rivendell. It was all I could do to fake it until the Company left. To force myself to pretend all was well until Bilbo and my three protectors were gone. 

“You cannot leave like this, lady.”

I whipped around, virulent words clogging my throat. Who was he to tell me what to do? Yet at the same time, an inner voice counseled caution. 

The elf before me clasped his long fingers before him and bowed his head until our eyes met, his long hair a fall of wheat yellow hanging over his shoulders. Blue robes draped across his lithe body and sandals adorned his feet. 

_What is real?_ I’d been sure, so sure, that this was Middle Earth. But hearing what I had deep in the night, that surety had acquired a big, gaping hole. _A black hole,_ I corrected myself. One that threatened to suck every ounce of light and life from me.

My ears rang with the evil cackle I’d heard come from my brother’s mouth. _Only it wasn’t my brother, was it?_ Whatever that creature had been, the voice that had spewed its venomous words through Aleks’s guise had been inhuman. That was no natural voice, not even one intentionally disguised. 

“We have her convinced,” it had crooned, its body sloughing off an upright, human posture to assume something angular and wrong. More, it hadn’t been alone. Something bearing Kíli’s form had been with it, both dancing in odd, stilted patterns. 

_Faerie._ No matter how I twisted the memories about in my mind, trying to make logical sense of them, I kept coming back to one conclusion: I’d been duped. I’d believed the lie just like the “dragonrider” who’d been ensnared before me. It tore me to pieces, knowing these “characters” I’d interacted with were nothing more than shadows and illusion. Bombur. Bofur. All of them. I’d thought I’d found friends. I’d _cared_ for them.

_Lies._

The truth revealed, the only question I now had was what was the Old One waiting for? What was the game? It didn’t much matter. I was fleeing to the only source I trusted at all, he of the golden aura in Mirkwood. 

_He lied, too. He said this was Middle Earth._ Perhaps his hand had been forced. What else did I have? I had to head back, had to reach Mirkwood. 

I tried for the door again, but the “elf” blocked my path once more. “Just let me go,” I wailed, my whole body starting to shake. 

Green eyes stared down at me, silent. Then a quick decision. “You will need provisions. Allow me to see to that.”

Provisions. Right. I must have nodded because he tried to usher me in another direction. I recoiled from him as if he was iron. He lifted both hands, palm outward. 

My fingers twisted around hunks of fabric at my sides. _Hold it together._

“Will you leave without saying goodbye to Estel?” he asked softly. “It will break his heart.”

Estel. Aragorn. _He isn’t real._ Or was he? I didn’t know. The only thing I could process was the need to feel safe, and thanks either to two fae who broke character or a brother determined to drive me insane, that place wasn’t here. 

_Aleks wouldn’t try to make me believe this is Faerie._ It was too primal, the fear of Faerie. There wasn’t a one of us lesser fae who didn’t react to the idea of it in a visceral way. And that voice. Aleks couldn’t have feigned that. 

Still, the idea of a child… I couldn’t do it. Fae-construct or not, I’d never willingly hurt a child. “I’ll…” The tight noose within my esophagus choked off my words. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ll go see him.”

The elf inclined his head. “He will be in the library.” 

Nod. Okay. Yes, I could find that. I turned away, forced my numb limbs to move. 

“I will gather provisions. Might I ask your destination?” 

_Don’t say, don’t say._ “Mirkwood. The Elvenking.”

OoOoOo

Lord Glorfindel saddled two horses and loaded both with provisions. Lord Elrond had spoken mere hours before of a vision involving Glorfindel and the small naiad. He’d seen them racing to Thranduil’s courts in some haste. What neither of the elf lords could have anticipated was how quickly it would come to pass. Glorfindel had delayed the young female as best he could, but from the expression on her face, he’d not get away with a second such attempt. Estel, she had doted upon. That alone had permitted him to succeed.

He tossed a saddlebag over Nibenroch’s withers and strapped it into place. The smallest steed in Elrond’s stables, the bay horse had a heart bigger than stallions twice his weight. He would serve the little lady well. 

Next, he saddled his own steed, Beleg, and led both horses into the stable yard. The speckled gray nosed at his pockets in search of a sweet. 

A door opened. His gaze lifted to spy the girl walking hand-in-hand with Estel, the young man’s face tight and his eyes bright with unshed tears. 

“I don’t want you to go,” Estel told her, his thin shoulders ramrod straight. Glorfindel felt his own throat tighten in response. It was not an easy life for a child. There were no other children here. The naiad was the closest companion in age that Estel had ever had, and she’d delighted the boy with new, wondrous tales and games. 

“I know,” she said, “And I’m sorry, but I have to.” 

She gave the lad the small box containing the game he’d loved so well, hugged him for a long moment, and then mounted the horse Glorfindel indicated. 

What frightened him most was that she never asked why he was accompanying her, and she never questioned the course he set. In fact, after bidding Estel farewell, she spoke not a word.

OoOoOo

Aleks’s training resumed the first night out from Rivendell. Kíli led him a few paces from camp where he set an apple upon an oblong rock. “Let’s see what you remember about your stance,” the young dwarf said, offering him the bow and a single arrow.

Aleks accepted them. A deep breath helped to settle the guilt-ridden thoughts plaguing him through the day. Nothing he could do about it now, so he might as well focus on learning skills that might save him one day. He _would_ find a way to be of use to Thorin. To pay him back for taking him in. 

Recalling Kíli’s instructions from past nights, he hefted the bow in his arms and fitted the arrow into place. Exhaling, he drew back on the bow string, eyeing his target. 

“Wait,” Kíli said before he released. “Adjust your stance…so. No wasted motion. You want to concentrate your efforts. A bad stance won’t necessarily foul your aim, but you’ll tire faster. In a fight, you don’t want that.”

Aleks nodded his head, committing the feel of the proper stance to memory. “Like this, then?”

“Aye. You’ve got it. Now, shoot the apple.”

The arrow sliced through the air, missing the apple by three feet. Aleks felt his muscles tense and his brow pinch. 

Kíli laughed. “It wasn’t as bad as all that. You are new to this. It will come to you.”

Aleks grunted. “How do you know?”

The dwarf shrugged. “I don’t.” A wide grin at Aleks’s sour look. 

“Very comforting.” Aleks scuffed one boot across the darkening ground. A quick check revealed the sun riding lower on the horizon. 

“If it is comfort you’re after, perhaps Bofur can sing you a lullaby,” Fíli interjected with a laugh. The heir placed his hands on his hips and said, “Uncle told you before, wielding a weapon takes effort. Any fool can wave a sword around. It takes time and sweat to learn how to wield it _well.”_

“Much less two at once,” Aleks groused with a nod at Fíli’s pair of swords, the hilts protruding above his back. 

Fíli gave him a white-toothed smile. 

“I have to ask,” Aleks said as he accepted another arrow from Kíli. “What’s with the braids?”

The blond dwarf stroked the twin braids hanging from his mustache. “Ah, envying our braids, lad?”

“Lad? I’m not much younger than you.”

Fíli chuckled, and Kíli burst out laughing. “How old are you, then?” Fíli asked. He turned to his brother. “I’ll wager a full week of second watch that he’s younger.”

Kíli shook his head with a smirk. “I’m not touching that.”

“I’m nineteen,” Aleks said. “You can’t be much older.”

“Kíli’s in his seventies,” Fíli drawled, gesturing to his brother with a casual wave of the hand. 

“Seventies?” Aleks echoed, gaping. His attention flew from one brother to the other. _Seventies? Dude._ “Well, may I say how well you’re holding up?” The brothers guffawed, slapping their knees. Aleks’s head tilted to one side. “How long do dwarves live?”

“Longbeards live about two hundred and fifty years, give or take a few decades,” Fíli told him. “The other dwarf Houses average a bit less.” 

_Houses?_ Aleks thought. 

“Especially the Broadbeams,” Kíli commented.

“Aye,” Fíli agreed with a wry expression. “To answer your question, our braids are earned.”

“Earned?” 

“Aye,” Fíli affirmed. “We are not elves seeking to pretty ourselves up. Our braids have meaning. They are achievements, see? They can signify proficiency in one’s craft, or they can be warrior braids.”

“Same thing, really,” Kíli interjected, urging Aleks to continue practicing his shot. Aleks notched another arrow and pulled back, checking his aim. “Only for a warrior, that is his craft,” Kíli continued.

“Does one have to pass a test to prove his skill?” Aleks asked as he loosed another arrow. _Closer._ He relaxed his stance and filched another arrow from Kíli’s quiver. 

Both hooted. “No,” Fíli answered. “No test. The braids are awarded by masters of the craft when they deem a student has reached proficiency.”

“That covers the majority of braids,” Kíli said, taking up the thread as Aleks shot the bow again. Closer that time. 

He thought upon the dwarves’ words. When he grew his own beard, no braiding it. He wouldn’t profess something he hadn’t earned. He rather liked the idea of that - a beard. He already had a good start, hesitant to shave since the dwarves’ first, appalled reaction the one time he’d done so. Besides, his _appa_ had worn his beard bushy and wild. His, Aleks determined, would sport a host of braids. _Earned._

He returned to his task. This time, haste and lack of attention sent the arrow spiraling off into the trees. Kíli said nothing, merely lifted a brow and handed him another arrow. Aleks felt his cheeks heat and took his time, securing his aim. _Seventy years old._ How was he supposed to compete with that? 

“There are braids for House and rank,” Fíli said, lifting one braid that traveled from his temple. 

“Other braids signify courtship, betrothal, and marriage,” Kíli said. “They are the only composite braids. They build upon one another.” 

Aleks chewed on that. He hadn’t noticed any braids like that, but then again, he hadn’t been inspecting them, either. Next time they collected around the campfire, he was going to rectify that. Aleks released the bowstring, this time hissing in pleasure as his arrow grazed the stem jutting out from the apple’s crown. 

“Much better,” Fíli commented. 

“Well done,” Kíli said. “Do it again.”

Smiling, Aleks set about doing just that. “So most of the Company are married?”

Fíli scoffed at that. “Many choose to devote themselves to the pursuit of honing their craft,” he said, his braided mustache twitching with amusement. 

“To be fair, we are short on women,” Kíli added.

“Aye, that has much to do with it, too, I’ll grant,” Fíli said, thumbs hooking over his belt. With a low grunt, he cocked his head to the side. “Not as easy to secure a wife when there are three lads to every maid. Is it not the same among your own people?”

Aleks scratched his brow with the back of one thumbnail. Three to one? Good grief. Suddenly, the question of his future surfaced. Oh, he’d thought of tomorrow and the day after that. But further down the road? That, he’d not considered. There was no dryad in his future. Period. And to hear Kíli tell it, likely no dwarf lass, either. 

No wife.

No children.

No family.

_Other than the one you tried to drive insane._

“No,” he said, his voice going flat. “No, it wasn’t the same.”

OoOoOo

The days bled together. The need to reach my destination burned within my veins, driving me onward even as exhaustion soon returned, weighing down my limbs and dulling my senses. Even my lack of riding skills failed to deter me from pressing on.

My companion spoke to me – I was pretty sure I remembered that – and I knew he shoved dried foodstuff into my hands a couple times. We stopped to allow the horses rest, too, for I remembered a soft bedroll and staring up at the stars, unable to sleep as the fear of insanity sloshed around in my mind. 

A new day, and I saddled Nibenroch as I’d been taught. Dragging myself into my seat, I held on as the small bay returned to his ground-eating canter, following in the wake of the elf’s gray.

OoOoOo

“Well done, Master Aleks.”

Aleks stood taller at Thorin’s praise, his lips curled in satisfaction. 

“We’ll make an exemplary archer of you yet.” Thorin’s hand came to his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. 

“Thank you, sire,” Aleks replied. 

Thorin snorted. “I am not king yet, my friend.”

“You will be,” Aleks said in all seriousness. To his mind, no one deserved it more. It was only a matter of time. They would win back Erebor, and he would see his liege crowned. 

“I have a gift for you,” Thorin said, changing the subject. 

A lump formed in Aleks’s throat as his eyes widened. He wiped sweaty palms on his jeans, his gaze shying away from Thorin’s direct stare. “Um. Really?”

The King Under the Mountain held out a cloth-wrapped bundle, a glimmer of a smile in his eyes. “Secured for you whilst we lodged in Rivendell. With it comes my word to replace it with a superior, dwarf-made version as soon as Erebor is reclaimed.”

Aleks’s face went slack and his heart skipped a beat as he unwrapped the package to find a long, elegant bow coupled with a quiver stocked with arrows. “Oh, man,” he breathed, fingering the wood of the bow and then the fletching upon one arrow. “It’s great.” A slow smile spread across his lips, and he returned his gaze to his leader. “Thanks. Really. I mean, it’s- It’s perfect.”

A wry smile in return as Thorin said, “Not perfect. It is, after all, of elvish make.”

Aleks grinned. “Thank you.”

OoOoOo

Every fiber of my being was focused upon the forest before us. _Almost there._ My sight had become blurry some time ago, but I refused to let it stop me. If anything, I drove my poor Nibenroch harder, unable to bear the turmoil and fear searing me from the inside out. I only hoped that the elf beside me knew the gelding’s limits. I was too far gone to notice them.

The instant we reached the treeline, I hauled back on the reins and tore my gloves from my hands. Glorfindel shouted something, but I dove from my seat and wrapped arms around the nearest tree, a birch, my wordless screams at last finding voice through the conduit linking the birches to the oaks, the oaks to the maples, and the maples to the beeches. Their sickly yellow also held black speckling, confirming that the shadow had spread from the southernmost tip of Mirkwood to this, the northwestern edge. 

The once-white bark of the tree I clung to had been overtaken by ugly ebony streaks that rippled above the bark’s smooth surface like grotesque veins. Fuzzy mold covered the bole like a second skin. It smeared across my cheek as I held to the tree tighter. I mindlessly whispered to it, begging for help, unable to halt the steady flow of whistles. 

What happened to my escort, I had no idea. My world consisted of me, my birch, and the other trees. Even the assault of the black _thing_ upon me couldn’t root me from my place. The forest pulsed, its energy recognizing mine and gonging in alarm. Its unhealthy yellow rippled as if a message went out. I could only hope it would reach him. 

The black migrated en mass, leaving local trees to rush at me. This time, there was no Radagast standing as a shield. It was just me, and I barely cared. Faerie would have me, one way or the other. I huddled at the tree’s base, knees to chest and my arms locked tight about the messy trunk. My bare toes – had I lost my shoes? – curled under my feet. 

When the black oozed into my own energy, it caused no pain this time. I spared a neuron to be grateful and let it do what it wished. 

A flash of gold. A familiar friend. His power rushed across the forest floor, its appearance much as if cracks had formed in the earth, a branching, spreading network through which brilliant light flooded through. The static-like energy crackled and snapped as it raced to the birch. The gold filaments wound up the birch’s trunk and lanced into my body through cheek, palms, and arms. 

_Fight it!_ His command was such that few would dare refuse, much less me at my weakest. His golden light flooded my head, barring the shadow’s progress in that direction. Anger drove him, righteous and boundless. I sensed surface ideas - not true thoughts, they lacked that definition. He was taken aback by my state, and his fury to find me so had a target. 

_Poor Radagast,_ I thought with a hint of sorrow. Fae-construct or not, he’d been kind in his own way.

_Fae-construct?_ A hardness entered his mental tone. _We will discuss this in detail later, penneth._ He batted away a black, finger-like tendril from reaching my face, cool and composed. _He seeks your memories. You must not give him such knowledge. Lift you head. Now!_

My head jerked from the bark. Glorfindel squatted beside me, eyes wide upon my arms. Looking down, I found the struggle visible to normal sight. My arms were turning into a bruised, splotchy mess. 

“By the Valar,” he breathed.

_I see you,_ a new voice intruded. 

My friend snapped me from my stupor with a barked, _Fight._

We created another net, building on what we’d learned last time. He threw it over the tree in icy silence, his entire aura one of furious determination. I fed him energy willingly, assisting the only way I could. 

I couldn’t do more, not with exhaustion pulling me under and _it_ whispering to me. Just let go and all the pain would go away, it promised. So tempting. I was of half a mind to let it win.

_Lies,_ Thranduil hissed. _You must not listen._

It was going wrong. Strong as he was, he couldn’t force my body to provide more than it had, and I’d been neglecting basic needs, too morose and lost to care for myself. 

The ground seemed to shake underfoot and some large _thing_ charged in our direction. Metal rasped against metal - I could only assume Glorfindel drew his sword. I could no longer pry my eyes open. 

Words. They flowed around me like dandelion puffs just out of reach. An argument, short and swiftly ended. Hands pulled me from the tree, severing my connection and returning me to the confines of my own mind. That I fought, my hands slapping blindly. 

“Shh, _penneth,”_ a voice crooned near my ear. Then louder, _“Ada,_ she is turning blue.”

“Hand her to me, _ion nin,”_ a hard, melodic voice commanded. 

More struggling, blind panic granting me a lease on strength when I had none. Long fingers captured mine and pressed them to the birch. My sight returned, the network of energy lines a child’s grid in my mind. 

“Look, _fileg._ Do you see?” 

Golden essence at my back, holding me in its grasp. _Safe._

_Yes._ He tore our hands away, brutally tearing the tree’s remaining energy from it at the same time. I wailed, thrashing, but he then used the dying tree’s stolen energy to cleanse the rest of the shadow-filth from me. Hefting me high in his arms, he carried me away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for comments and kudos. They are very much appreciated :)


	15. A Fall

### Chapter 14

Bilbo slipped upon the slick, narrow path and careened towards the sharp drop into the gorge beside them. Aleks gasped and snatched at the small man, grabbing hold just as Bofur also got a fistful of the hobbit’s drenched coat. 

“Watch your step, Master Baggins,” Dori called over Aleks’s shoulder. “It’s very slippery on bare feet.”

 _You don’t say._ Bilbo’s expression matched Aleks’s thought to a T. The hobbit refrained from rolling his eyes, but he shot a look of disbelief at Aleks. Bilbo’s pale brown eyes looked unusually dark against his cold-bleached skin. 

“Here, Bilbo. Hold up a sec.” Aleks’s tote splattered water in every direction, but given they stood under a deluge, Aleks figured a few more drops could hardly hurt. 

“Aleks, what are you doing?” asked Dori. “We’ll fall behind.”

“I only need a sec,” he called back to the worrywart of a dwarf. 

From behind, he heard Dori ask, “What’s a ‘sec’?” and Nori’s baffled, “Do ye think it could be another ‘gizmo’ in that bag of his?” The middle brother seemed inordinately proud of his proper usage of that new term. He’d taken a shine to it ever since Aleks had used it in passing when describing the concept of electronics to a curious Fíli. 

“No, Nori, it is not a gizmo.” He smiled at Bilbo, hoping to share his amusement and pull the hobbit from the pitiful funk he’d succumbed to the first night they’d spent on this _Valar-_ forsaken trail. (Aleks patted himself on the back for his own use of a new term.) 

Bilbo’s response was a tepid twitch of the lips. His gaze kept returning to the precipice. For the most part, the drop remained hidden in the storm’s shadows, but every now and again, a helpful lightning strike would light it up, showing just how deep a plunge hovered inches beyond their right side. Aleks felt dizzy every time he glanced at it. 

Aleks kept his tone calm and even as he chatted to the smaller man. “A ‘sec’ is short for a second.” He unzipped the duffle and dragged out his length of paracord. With the ease of familiarity, he created a harness for the hobbit. “Step into this, Bilbo.”

“What are ye doing, Master Aleks?” Dori asked, sloshing closer by the sound of the heavy footsteps. 

“I’m roping us together,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over a sudden clap of thunder. He knotted the makeshift safety gear into place before looping it around his waist and tying it off, reserving extra length to feed out if necessary. Satisfied, he cut the end and stuffed the paracord back into his bag. 

Upon further consideration, he stowed both rifle and his new bow inside, too, as well as his quiver. He was _not_ losing those. Satisfied they were as safe as he could make them, he zipped up the bag and tossed it back over his shoulder. 

Bilbo looked at the long length of cord with skepticism. 

“It’ll hold, Bilbo. Trust me. It’s stronger than it looks.”

“Good. Can we catch up with the others now?” Dori asked, waving his hands at Aleks in a clear, _Go already._

“Sorry for the delay, fellas.” Aleks pretended to tip an invisible hat and prodded Bilbo into motion. 

They caught up with Bofur almost straight off - the congenial dwarf must have been waiting on them. Rain ran in rivulets from Bofur’s winged hat, but the dwarf seemed immune to the weather. He gave them a wide smile when they reached him, then he led the way after the rest of the Company. “You both look a mite like drowned rats,” the dwarf told them. 

Aleks refrained from making rude noises - like his appearance could be helped - and Bilbo laughed weakly. “Well, the drowned part is accurate enough,” Bilbo said. 

Bofur patted the hobbit softly on the back. “We’ll be setting up camp soon.”

Bilbo looked none too reassured to Aleks. The hobbit swiped dripping hair from his face and squinted up at the taller dwarf. “Was that supposed to be encouraging? Camping on this ledge?” One finger stabbed at the surface in question in a clear indictment.

Bofur laughed. “You’ll do. Aye, it was at that. Look at it this way - at least it is rain and not hail.”

Behind Bofur’s back, Aleks crossed his eyes and rotated a finger near his temple. “Crazy,” he mouthed in case the gesture did not translate across worlds. 

Bilbo chortled under his breath and picked up the pace, his hand trailing along the rock wall to their left. 

As if the heavens had opened up, their deluge took a turn for the worse, increasing in intensity until the rain fell in stinging sheets, destroying visibility. 

“I dare you to say it, Bofur,” Aleks hollered above the roar. 

“Aye? Say what?” the toymaker yelled back. 

“That it could be worse.” 

Over the low rumble of thunder, laughter broke the tension. 

“Well, it could be,” Bofur returned loudly. “It still is not hail.”

Just then, Dwalin halted in his tracks and pointed out across the gorge. “Look!” Lightning flashed, illuminating a massive boulder heading for the cliff above them as if launched from a cannon.

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me,” Aleks gasped.

“Take cover!” Balin shouted. 

Aleks sandwiched Bilbo between himself and the rock wall. Dori press in against his side.

The boulder smashed overhead with a deafening _crack._ Shale and rocks rained down. Aleks spotted a few large enough to be lethal if a dwarf was in their path, but they missed them all, only narrowly passing Gloin by. Smaller, pulverized particles hit Aleks on his back, punctuated by a handful of actual rocks. He’d have bruises for sure. 

“You had to say it, didn’t you?” Kíli shouted as the din died down.

“Say what?” someone asked.

 _“Hail.”_

Aleks’s heart slowed as he realized they’d all survived and were relatively unharmed. But what was that? 

Another loud crash came from somewhere across the gorge. “What is this?” he asked, too lowly for any but Bilbo to hear. “Is this _normal_ for your world?”

Bilbo denied it with a wide-eyed shake of the head, his hands gripping the rope between them like a lifeline. 

“We must find shelter,” Aleks heard Thorin shout from the head of the line. 

“This is no thunderstorm,” Balin suddenly cried. “It’s a thunder-battle. Look! Here comes another one.” 

What was a thunder-battle? Aleks searched the skies, only to feel his heart freeze as another huge chunk of rock came flying through the air, this time closing in upon Nori and Ori’s position. Everyone hugged the rough wall once more, Aleks using his frame to shelter Bilbo.

The rock shattered upon impact too high above for Aleks to see, but he felt the results a split-second later as shards and debris came spewing down, pummeling those in its path without mercy. As soon as the fall of rock abated, Aleks released Bilbo and looked across the gorge. 

No animal energy signatures met his satyr vision. Only the dwarves and hobbit lit up the night with their white and red auras blazing like miniature beacons along the path. So what was attacking them? 

A flicker. Something moved in the darkness, something only detected by his normal, human sight. 

Aleks’s knees almost buckled as he realized what he was seeing. A stone giant – legs, torso, arms, head all crudely chiseled out of bare mountain – ducked an airborne, sofa-sized meteor. Retaliating, it snatched up its own ball of rock the size of a coffin and hurled it down the canyon and out of sight. Only the distant smack of rock hitting rock told its tale. 

He was about to ask Bofur if it could get worse _now_ when it did. More stone giants pulled away from the sides of cliffs and rock formations. Each giant would no sooner step free of the stone cage that had held him than he picked up a huge fistful of rock and sent it zooming across the sky towards another giant. 

“A war-zone,” Aleks whispered. 

“Hurry,” Dwalin bellowed. 

Thorin charged forward, setting a brutal, dangerous pace. Aleks’s feet slipped from underneath him more than once, and Bilbo had an even harder time. But what other choice was there? They had to get clear of this battle. 

Aleks jogged behind Bilbo, keeping a close watch on the skies and the hobbit’s progress. From behind, the huffing and puffing of the three dwarves trailing in his wake assured they were yet with him. 

The narrow ledge underfoot lurched minutely. Aleks froze. Dori smashed into his back, and Bilbo almost fell as the rope between them snapped taut. Alex hurried to feed out more slack, increasing the distance between them as the ground beneath him trembled. If his patch of ledge was about to go, he didn’t want Bilbo to be tied too closely to him. Actually, maybe he should remove the rope. 

“Aleks,” Nori, his voice full of urgency and impatience.

“Did you feel that?” Aleks hissed. 

“Feel what?” Kíli asked, a steady stream of rain falling from his nose. Aleks blinked, surprised. Kíli and Fíli must have fallen back, displacing Bofur. 

Another lurch. The rock beneath their boots lifted a full foot into the air before dropping back into place. Up and down the narrow ledge, dwarf energy signatures wobbled, and half of them collapsed to their knees. 

Aleks stumbled, teetering on the lip of the gorge, his heart lodged somewhere next to his tonsils. If he fell, not only would he doom himself, but he’d drag the hobbit with him. His hands raced to the paracord around his waist.

Dori’s work-roughened hand wrapped around his upper arm and hauled him back. Aleks started to thank him, his mouth forming the first syllable when the ground beneath his feet shifted sideways into the gorge. He and Dori exchanged one, horrified look, and the cliff at their backs tore away from its mooring. 

“Kíli!” he heard Fíli scream. Aleks’s head whipped to the left, spotting Fíli standing on—

 _No way._ His head swam for a precious second. “You have got to be _kidding_ me,” Aleks said. They were all on the lower knee joints of a stone giant. As it tore free from its cocoon, its legs parting, the Company was split into two. 

The giant took a step forward, and Bilbo slipped off the side with a high-pitched squawk. The rope snapped taut around Aleks’s waist, and he clutched at Dori to keep from pitching over the side. 

“Hold him!” Nori shouted above another thunderclap. The thief slip-slided past them to the far ledge and leaned over, grabbing Bilbo’s hand and the cord, using both to haul him to the dubious safety of their moving shelf. 

A projectile hit their giant, and he careened backwards into the mountain wall behind him. The collision sent shock waves through the giant’s body, and they all scrambled for better purchase upon the knobby protrusions under its knee. Ori yelled. Aleks threw himself towards the young dwarf alongside his brothers, snatching fistfuls of Ori’s coat sleeve to use for leverage. 

Another step, this time on the other leg, and they watched the rest of their friends pass by on their own knee. The split-second stretched into eternity as the two groups stared at each other with wide-eyed horror underneath the crackling light of a brilliant lightning strike. 

“Fíli,” Kíli shouted across the distance. 

Fíli cupped his mouth. “Hold on, Brother! Don’t let go!” 

Their giant bent over and hefted a rock the size of a room. It craned his arm back and bent one knee – Aleks’s – and his group all dug fingers into their hand-holds. The knee moved again as the giant hurled its projectile at its foe. 

And missed.

“Oh, c’mon!” Aleks roared. “He missed?” Why, he wondered wildly, did they have to end up on the one giant sure to get his butt whipped?

As if his thought was the signal, a shed-sized boulder came arcing across the gorge. It slammed into their giant’s torso like a freight train. The giant pitched backwards, its left side scraping across the mountain wall. Aleks spied the distinctive white-red of dwarf energy signatures race from the other knee onto solid ground before the giant’s body impeded his line of sight. 

“They’re safe,” he shouted in Kíli’s direction. 

“What?” Kíli hollered back.

“They’re safe. Fíli made it off of this thing.”

Which was more than he could say for them. Aleks planted a palm against Bilbo’s chest, bracing him as the giant stumbled. _This is it._ Aleks’s breath froze in his throat. They were going to get smashed between the giant’s unyielding bulk and the mountainside. Closer and closer the rocky wall came, gaining definition with each beat of his racing heart. 

_Wait._ “The ledge! Jump for the ledge!” He jabbed a finger towards it, vibrating with urgency.

The giant’s upper body smashed into the mountain. Aleks held his breath, eyes fixated on the narrow ribbon of a pathway along the cliff’s edge. Nearer it came. Nearer. Nori and Dori tossed Ori, then Kíli leaped. Aleks and Bilbo took off with a running start. 

Air. Wind. 

Aleks touched down, the weight of his duffle knocking him to his knees. Bilbo landed beside him. But then, the ground beneath Aleks crumbled. He had time for one horrified look towards Nori, then he plummeted down the mountain’s side, dragging a hobbit in his wake.

OoOoOo

Mirkwood was sick. So very, very sick.

I slumped against the elf in the saddle behind me, my stomach churning as waves of agony reached me, radiated out by the dying vegetation all around. Each brush of the diseased energy against mine resulted in my innards knotting tighter, squeezing more bile into my esophagus. 

My leaden limbs hung listless at my sides. I had no strength to move them. My body cried out for sleep, but it refused to come. Thoughts buzzed around in my skull like inebriated bees. They flew in looping, convoluted paths, bumping into each other and slamming into dead-ends, disintegrating on impact. 

_Faerie has not been good for me._ Then again, who was it good for besides the narcissistic megalomaniacs ruling the place? 

I stared listless at the dark, blighted forest as we rode among the trees. This section of Mirkwood was not simply a sickly yellow; it had long since degraded from that cheerful state into something darker. The auras of the trees here were a dingy, dirty gray with the barest smattering of yellow to be seen. Not a glimmer of healthy green could be found. 

Silent tears streamed down my cheeks, unchecked. I’d fought so long and hard to master myself, to keep any emotion private and safe. The fae mimicking Aleks had destroyed it, and I had nothing left to give to rebuilt those defenses. What was the point, anyway? Hiding emotions here was about as useful as flapping my arms to fly. Sour humiliation filled me. Had the Old One playing with me gotten a good laugh at how he’d strung me along? I wondered where I fell on the scale of those who’d suffered before me on the gullible meter. Probably near the top. 

I let the tears fall, feeling naked and raw, but… This sight, the memory of the “people” I’d come to care about, discovering they didn't exist, both deserved tears. The trees here, from beech to oak, moaned, their low calls like a dirge. From time to time, one of them, or even some of the few shrubs that had not yet succumbed, shrieked in such hopeless misery that it sent icy fingernails skittering down my lower spine. 

It didn’t help that darkness cloaked the land as if it were midnight. The misshapen, mutated tree canopies above had created a thick, suffocating barrier that strangled the sunlight. It wasn’t quite as pitch black as Dol Guldur at night, but it came awfully close. 

“What do you hear?” the tall elf seated behind me asked in an undertone, bending to place his lips closer to my right ear. Silvery tresses spilled across my shoulder, their color muted by the unnatural dark ruling the forest. 

I craned my neck back to bring him into view. His remarkable eyes were veiled by the oppressive shadow enveloping the land. I’d seen them in the light of day as I’d been assisted onto his mount - eyes the color of rich malachite marbled with thin streaks of aquamarine. I’d never beheld such eyes until I’d met this elf, and each time I looked at him, I kept hoping for another glimpse of them. They were just _that_ spectacular. 

_“Penneth?”_ he prodded. 

“The trees,” I whispered, as if we must hide our presence from the evil lurking in the gloom. My head returned to rest upon his chest, my attention drawn again to the dusky silhouette of the “Elvenking” riding before us and to our left. “They scream.”

The body behind me didn’t move, yet I had the distinct impression he was absorbing my words. “It pains you,” he commented after a silent minute.

I didn’t answer.


	16. The Yeti from Azeroth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: Yes, he is where he's not supposed to be. No, it wasn't an oversight lol. Things are about to go awry.

### Chapter 15

Aleks scraped down the cliff’s face, his hands tearing against rough rock and his bag dragging across both shoulder and neck. His heels caught on something, but inertia drove him down into his knees and ankles, spilling him from the minuscule perch. _Crack!_ His head bounced off of the tiny protrusion. 

His stomach slammed into a sapling that had somehow found purchase along the cliff’s steep decline. Breath rushed from his lungs in a protracted wheezed, and the sapling dipped under his weight. Aleks’s gaze zoomed past it to the hobbit dangling mid-air under him. The drop from here out was almost completely vertical. 

The limb beneath him made the most horrible snapping noise, and Aleks’s gut transitioned into its very own Ice Age. Voices shouted from up above, but all he could do was stare at the abyss below and hyperventilate. The hobbit’s body spun in slow spirals as the paracord twisted around, and from the look of things, Bilbo was staring at the same eye-full he was. 

Another small snapping sound. 

_“Aleks!”_

Thorin’s shout yanked him from his brain freeze. 

They had little time. Aleks slowly – oh, so very slowly – pulled himself along the sapling’s body hand over hand, away from the thinner end and towards the slightly thicker base. The entire leafy canopy shivered with his every shift. When he reached the base, he rotated his pelvis, straddling the tree’s trunk with his butt squeezed between it and the uneven rock wall behind him. 

He stretched out one foot to the half-yard long depression the tree sprang from and slowly eased his weight there, begging the dwarves’ Mahal that it would hold. With his breath frozen in his lungs, he started counting until the next crack, hoping he’d relieved enough pressure that the sapling would hold.

_One…two…three…_

Bilbo’s wide eyes stared up at him as the hobbit levered himself more upright, his actions gentle and fluid. 

_…Eight, nine…_

“Aleks!” “Bilbo!” More voices called out, ringing with alarm. Aleks tried to respond, his lips formed the words, but no sound emerged. 

_…fifteen, sixteen…_

“Here!” Bilbo shouted back, cupping his mouth with one small hand. 

“How?”

“I cannot see them!”

“Is that them?”

“Where?”

_Twenty-eight, twenty-nine._ The painful knot between Aleks’s shoulder blades loosened. He gulped huge breaths, his head collapsing against a flat sheet of rock. 

“Bilbo, you okay?” he bellowed without opening his eyes. _Dude, I never want to go through that again._ He’d never been afraid of heights before, but after this, he was seriously rethinking his stance on the issue. He wiped a palm across his face. 

“Aleks!” Thorin again.

Aleks lifted his chin until he stared up at the dizzying height above him. A flash of lightning brought the dwarves’ faces into stark relief and stripped them of color. 

“Thorin,” he shouted as loud as he could. “Do you have rope?”

Immediately, Balin answered, “Nay, lad. We lost Gloin’s pack.”

Aleks spat a couple choice epithets under his breath. A small voice whispered, A dryad would be nice right about now. His lungs about seized up as guilt once more slapped him in the face. _How could I have done it?_ He thrust it from his mind, ignoring the sense of brittle shame that seemed determined to settle upon his shoulders. Yet at the same time, his fury persisted, unabated. He hated feeling guilty about anything to do with her. 

_She’d just as likely let you fall as help,_ he reminded himself. Stabbing people in the back was what she was good at. 

A sharp pain returned him to himself. A quick check revealed that he’d been clutching the ragged edge of rock so hard that he’d sliced open his palm. 

“I have rope,” Aleks yelled to the dwarves. He almost ripped apart the zipper getting into the bag. Rooting around, he located the sack of paracord and zipped the bag up again. Aleks weighed the sack in one hand. He drew back his arm to throw it.

“Stop!” 

The bag wobbled in his grip, and he snatched at it for a better hold at Thorin’s bellow. “Give me a heart attack,” he muttered. Then louder. “What?” with all the irritation burning through his veins. 

“Tie one end to you, Aleks. If this goes afoul, we do not want to lose the rope.”

_Dude, you’re an idiot,_ he castigated himself. He should have thought of that. He untied the knots with his teeth, blood and rain turning his grip slick. In his hurry to be done with it, the bag slipped from his hand.

“Bilbo!” he screamed with absolute panic. 

The hobbit plucked the bag out of the air. 

_Nerves of steel,_ Aleks thought. His head bonked back against the wall. This world would be the death of him. He leaned to the side and called down, “You da _man,_ Bilbo.”

A most peculiar expression crossed the hobbit’s face, but he shook his head, not asking. “I do not believe the rope does us any good from down here.”

No, it didn’t. Aleks nodded jerkily. Okay, so he’d have to haul the hobbit up to his tiny little ledge. One more bracing inhale, and he directed his gaze downward, his lips parting to…

_What is that?_ A new energy signature materialized below Bilbo. The energy glowed a dingy yellow, like someone had crayoned over it with charcoal gray. He watched the energy look around with a definite humanoid shape. Then, it spotted Bilbo and crawled up the mountainside like a spider. Aleks's eyes flared. “Bilbo! There’s something beneath you.” 

“What?” The hobbit’s head shot downward, and the rope began spinning him again. 

“Your sword! Bilbo, look at your sword!” Ori yelled from overhead. 

His sword? Aleks didn’t follow.

Bilbo grappled with his sheath and pulled the sword free a few inches. Blue light spilled from the revealed sliver of the blade. It was glowing. 

_Hello. What was that about?_ “Hold on, buddy.” Aleks splayed his feet and pushed back with them, better anchoring himself. Hissing under his breath – the unknown creature moved bloody fast – he pulled the rope upward. 

Bilbo stared below him, his face hidden from Aleks’s sight. The creature gained. Aleks felt locked inside a horror flick, where the hall lengthened and the monster closed in upon you no matter what you tried. 

_What can climb like that?_

“Kíli,” he thought he heard Thorin order.

“I cannot see it,” the younger Durin growled. 

“Where is it? Can you see it?” someone else asked, voice raised with fear and panic. 

The rain-slicked rope slid through his hands, and Aleks bellowed, “No!” He tightened his grasp, but still the rope fed out, lowering his friend back down. The creature lashed out the instant Bilbo was in range, and the hobbit yelped in pain. 

Aleks dropped his hold on the rope – it had all slipped from his grasp – and fumbled for his bag, almost upending it in his search for the handgun. His stash of chocolate and _It_ went raining down, and then his fingers located the Glock. He toggled off the safety and aimed the gun downward. 

“It’s too dark,” Fíli roared helplessly. 

The loud crack of the gun split through the muffled rumble of the downpour. Aleks adjusted his aim as the thing rushed for him, abandoning the hobbit. “I. Don’t. Think. So.” He pulled the trigger again and hit the thing in its dingy-yellow head. It dropped from the wall with no sound, its energy blanking out, vanishing from his sight. 

“Aleks?” Thorin at his demanding best.

“Got ‘im,” Aleks called back. Then changing directions, “Bilbo, you with me, man?”

“Are there any more of them?” Bilbo asked. 

Aleks gave the entire gorge a sweeping look. “No,” he said at last. “I don’t see any others. Let’s get you up from there.”

OoOoOo

It took at least another hour to first get Bilbo up to his ledge, then the sack of rope successfully to Thorin and the others, and finally for the dwarves to pull Aleks and Bilbo up by their harnesses.

Aleks bent over with hands on his knees, his body quivering. So much could have gone wrong. What if the sapling hadn’t held? Or the ledge? What if Bilbo had cracked open his skull upon the mountainside when Aleks’s fall had halted so abruptly? What if that thing had managed to do more than slice a gash across the hobbit’s left arm? 

A hand cupped the back of his neck and drew his head against a wet, animal hide coat. “Well done, Master Hunt. Well done, indeed.”

He leaned into the other man, his breaths growing more ragged. “I almost— I almost lost him.”

“This was none of your doing, Aleks,” Thorin said as he urged him upright. “I am proud of you.” 

Aleks shuffled his feet in embarrassment and waved it off with a gruff, “It was nothing.” Inside, though, the words glowed like the warmest of embers. _Thorin_ was proud of him, and he’d never felt prouder of himself. 

“Lead the way, Gloin,” Thorin commanded. 

The dwarves sorted themselves out in short order, and Gloin took the helm as ordered. 

“We camping soon?” Aleks asked Nori as the other dwarf fell in beside him. Aleks would never say as much aloud, but the relief he felt as the path widened was almost debilitating in its intensity. He never wanted to step foot on this forsaken cliff path again. 

“Aye,” Nori said, his mace resting upon his right shoulder. 

“How far?” 

“Not that far, Master Aleks. Not far at all.” 

Eyeing Nori’s bearded face, he translated that into, “Please don’t collapse on me. I don’t want to have to haul your carcass all the way there.” Aleks snorted to himself, and in his best Yoda voice stated, “Patience, you must have, young naiad.”

Nori missed a step. “Aleks?”

Aleks gave him a weary smile. “I haven’t cracked up. Er, I’m not insane. Some of my favorite stories from back home have this very small character called Yoda in them. Yoda was famous for some of his wisdom.”

“Yoda?” Kíli asked from behind him 

“Aye,” Aleks drawled with a teasing grin. Dropping the smile, he explained, “We call them Yoda-isms, sayings that a lot of us have adopted after seeing the mov— er, reading the books.”

When Kíli shrugged it off in confusion, Aleks felt a touch of sadness. What he’d told _her_ was true enough. No one else would get their jokes. For the first time since the dwarves had taken him in, homesickness touched him. He’d no desire to return – what did he have back there? Marcus? He snorted to himself in silent scorn. _Right, because Marcus cared so much._ A collar? _No thank you._

“Anyway, I tend to quote him a lot,” Aleks finished lamely. 

Nori’s smile was polite enough. Aleks’s homesickness developed teeth, and he walked in silence for some time before a different commotion up ahead garnered his full attention.

“Master Baggins has been lost since he left his Shire,” Thorin pronounced loud enough for the entire Company to hear. The dismissal and condemnation lacing his words were like a lash, and Aleks’s gaze immediately sought the hobbit. Bilbo stood in the middle of a pack of dwarves, yet he looked as alone as if he were the only soul in the Misty Mountains. 

Aleks ground his teeth together. “Why did he do that?” he asked Nori privately. “Why does he treat him that way?”

Nori cleared his throat, his gaze turning to look out over the dark gorge. “Well, ah. You see, Thorin, he’s responsible for us all.”

Uh-huh. What did that have to do with it?

“Master Baggins is the weakest of us, and that is the sad truth. Thorin worries for his survival. He does not want the hobbit’s blood on his hands, see?”

Aleks thought about it and decided he did see. But that was no excuse to belittle his friend. From what he’d garnered, Gandalf had all but ordered the King Under the Mountain to bring Bilbo along. _Maybe that’s it._ Maybe Thorin resented Gandalf’s high-handed tactics. It wasn’t like he could take his miff out on the absent wizard. 

Aleks in no way wanted to lose Thorin’s approval, but the infuriating guilt he carried for what he’d done to Daphne goaded him on. He couldn’t stand to add to that load. Aleks picked up his pace, passing several of the Company until he gained Bilbo’s side.

OoOoOo

Aleks was still at Bilbo’s side an hour later when they set up camp in a cave. After Bilbo’s close encounter with what Bilbo had identified as a goblin, Thorin banned fire. There could be no tell-tale smoke betraying their location. Dwalin scouted the cave’s furthest reaches, returning to pronounce it empty of denizens, and everyone shucked their bags, packs, and bedrolls.

“Bofur, you have first watch,” Thorin said as he unburdened himself.

“Aye,” the toymaker responded, immediately hefting his mattock upon his shoulder and marching towards the entrance with a low whistle. He seated himself at the cave’s mouth. Bilbo and Aleks joined him, both finding comfort in the dim light spilling in through the entrance. 

“At least that thunder-battle is done with,” Aleks said in an attempt to draw the hobbit into conversation. 

“Fíli, get your big lug head out of my light,” they heard Kíli grouse from further inside. 

Aleks couldn’t see the two what with the murky conditions inside, but he heard Fíli’s, “And what might be so ve _rrr_ y important,” he drawled, rolling his _r_ s, “that you’re needing light?”

Aleks tuned them out, his head turning around to face Bofur. “You can see in this?” 

The toymaker set his mattock beside him, drew out a piece of wood and a small knife and started whittling away at it. “This?” The cheerful dwarf’s gaze traveled towards the rest of the Company. “Yah. Is that how you say it?”

Aleks snorted. “No. It’s _yeah.”_

_“Yeeah.”_

_Close enough._

“Well then, Master Aleks, the answer ye be looking for is _yeeah.”_ His grin adopted a teasing edge. “We do live underground, mind. Like as not that would not be the case if our eyesight was so poor as the race of men.”

“Fair enough.” Aleks dropped his bag and sat next to it. Bilbo silently joined him, sitting on the other side of the duffle. 

“You cannot see them?” the toymaker asked, gesturing with his knife. 

“Only just,” Bilbo said.

“Their energy signatures,” Aleks answered. “Nothing of their physical forms.”

The dwarf hummed under his breath, his brows pinched together as his deft hands chipped away at the wood. 

“When you see these _energy signatures,”_ Bilbo said as if committing the term to memory, “what does it look like?”

Bombur interrupted to pass out dried rations. All three thanked him, and Bombur retreated to his spot beside Bifur. Aleks bit off a hank of tough boar jerky and chewed, ordering his words. 

“Well,” he began. “Everything living is energy. We eat for energy, we expend energy. What I see is a person’s unique energy print, I suppose you’d say. Dwarves have this white-hot core that turns bright red around the edges of them.” His words began tripping over each other as both of his friends stared at him in varying degrees of bemusement. 

“And Master Baggins?” Bofur asked, gesturing to Bilbo with his hunk of wood. 

Before he could answer, Bilbo burst out, “That ends the mystery. You were able to see the goblin’s energy, yes?”

“Yes,” Aleks said with a shrug. 

They spoke for a bit longer, but then both Aleks and Bilbo turned in for the night, exhausted from their day. Aleks curled up on his bedroll with the Glock in one hand. 

_Just_ in case, he decided with one leery look at the cave’s open maw. _Just in case._

OoOoOo

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Aleks roused to Thorin’s clarion call when the floor beneath him trembled. Then it fell away altogether. In the pitch black, he couldn’t see a thing, but every horror he’d dreamed up since his prior fall flooded his mind. Stark white terror rendered him mute while his companions roared to each other, spewing creative invectives and calling each other’s names. 

Aleks clutched the Glock to his chest, thanking all the Valar of Middle Earth he’d left the safety on. He skidded across a deeply slanted surface, his heart giving a painful little lurch when he realized how smooth it was. _This thing isn’t natural._ It sloped in ever increasing degrees until it bore more resemblance to a child’s curving slide than a wedge-shaped slab. Smooth though it was, it remained stone and not a slick marble at that. Aleks yanked his arms and head up as the subtle chafe threatened to remove skin. 

“What is this?” he hollered, his dark-blinded sight providing him with no clues. No glimmer of light existed within this featureless blackness but for the dwarves’ auras, blobs of light floating in a sea of inky darkness. It was a deeply disturbing sensation to be rushing headlong into a formless abyss upon a looping road that at times curved so sharply, his inertia carried him up its curved sides until he almost dangled upside down. 

The mass of them bumped into each other like some painful game of bumper cars, with hard boots connecting with ribs and hilts connecting with shins. He couldn’t imagine the bloodbath that might have resulted had he not had that safety on. 

“It be a slide, Aleks my friend. Can ye not tell?” The dry, gruff comment – was that _Gloin?_ – elicited a hoot from Bofur somewhere down below. 

_Ha-ha._ Aleks couldn’t muster any humor, dark or otherwise, for the realization had hit him that there was a distinct possibility that this would end none too well. Any abrupt stop along this path would mean splattered Aleks bits – and Bilbo, Thorin, and Company bits – all over the place.

Whatever this thing was, it carried them down into the very bowels of the Misty Mountains. He kept picturing that goblin from before. Wondering. Worrying. 

The chute vomited them out into air. Aleks got a fragmented impression of an immense open space lit by dim, sputtering torches before he crashed down upon a pile of hard leather armor and unyielding steel weapons. A split-second later, another body slammed into him, then another atop that and still another after that. 

Aleks gasped for breath as the force compressed every ounce of air from his lungs. The blood rushed into his head. 

“On your feet!” 

At Thorin’s shout, the dwarves extricated themselves fast. Fíli appeared and hauled Aleks up by the lapel of his jacket. 

Dread filled Aleks as he saw the sea of goblins surrounded by uncanny yellow auras, all of them jeering at the Company from a plank wooden bridge suspended between the dwarves’ perch and another platform a dozen yards away. There was no place to run, for a crude wooden cage surrounded the Company, trapping them where they’d fallen.

Every which way Aleks turned, more goblins crowded the surfaces of similar platforms, all interconnected by a network of wooden bridges. And down below? He felt the blood drain from his face. There was no bottom to the drop in sight. To fall from this primitive floating city would equal death. 

The ramshackle door to their prison was thrown open, and the goblins roiled inside, flowing among and over the Company like a plague of locusts. The Glock was torn from Aleks’s grasp, and he lunged after it, throwing a punch at the nearest goblin. A second goblin’s fist connected with his cheek before his own punch landed, and he reeled into Dwalin. The dwarf steadied him with one hand and wielded his hammer down on the cranium of that second goblin with the other. 

A curly head of hair floated into Aleks’s line of vision, and Aleks reached out and snatched the back of the hobbit’s coat, pulling him to his side. “Stay close,” he said above the din, his hand switching holds to wrap around Bilbo’s wrist. 

Sharp and pointy spear-like weapons dug between the rough-hewn slats to poke and prod the party from their wooden confines. Aleks dodged a couple, but more than one hit landed, drawing blood on his butt and left thigh. Fearful that the goblins would inflict more substantial damage upon their smallest member, he shielded Bilbo from the front while Dori and Nori did so from the sides and rear. 

The Company was herded across the first bridge. Aleks swallowed. The bridge bucked like a galleon in storm-tossed waters. _Not cool._ Aleks kept his gaze from drifting downward only by a supreme act of will. His hold on Bilbo tightened. 

Small, bony hands added to the impetus pushing them onward. Where they were going, Aleks had no idea, but the masses of goblins kept them moving like a river, traversing across one nauseatingly unsteady bridge after another. 

At one point, Bilbo pulled against his grip. Aleks refused to release him, uncertain if some goblin was attempting to cart their hobbit away or what. He’d heard these things – and orcs – _ate_ their kind, sometimes alive, so he held tight, trying to insinuate himself between the goblins pressing in on all sides and Bilbo. It was an exercise in futility. The goblins completely cut off his view of his friend.

Only that hand-hold remained to assure him Bilbo was still there. 

_You can’t have him._ He’d lost enough in his life. He’d not lose any of his new family. The only way they’d get Bilbo free from him was over his cold, dead body. 

At last, they reached their destination: a large, flattened shelf of rock centrally located in the massive cavern. The goblins peeled back, leaving the Company in a knot in the center of the platform, while the goblins stamped the butts of their weapons upon the rock ground in repetitious unison. The dwarves quickly shuffled their positions, shoving Bilbo in the middle and Thorin near the back. Aleks allowed himself to be jostled away from their king. Without his Ruger or Glock, Dwalin and Balin were the better choice to defend their leader. 

_I lost the bow he gave me,_ a small, little boy part of him wailed with an overwhelming sense of loss. He knew the bow unimportant in the scheme of things, but it had been the first gift he’d received, one of approval and pride, since his _appa_ had—

_Shove it,_ Aleks, he hissed to himself. _It doesn’t matter._ But it did. Badly. 

The dwarves’ maneuvering put Aleks closer to the front, on the left curve of their circle with Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur at their helm. Right before the trio sat… 

_Yikes._

The energy emitted by the ghastly thing was what he noted first. The color of vomit, oranges and bile creams overlaid with tomb gray, the thing pulsated with sickening rot. It was _not_ the energy signature of a healthy creature. And when Aleks looked beyond the energy, he saw why. The biggest goblin yet, the crowned, lumpy being sat upon a throne of bones with rolls of fatty flesh creasing him like a freaky Sharpei. Bones not only formed his throne but littered the ground, some yet dotted with rotting flesh and bearing teeth marks upon their surfaces. 

“By Durin,” he heard Nori say softly from his flank, and he wholeheartedly agreed. 

The obese thing raised one big hand and the rhythmic pounding stopped. “Who would be so bold as to come armed into _my_ kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?” he boomed. Loudly. Loud enough, Aleks bet himself, for all of his adoring underlings to hear, even the ones on the other side of the misbegotten cavern. 

A drama king. _Perfect._

“Dwarves, your Malevolence,” one of the goblins provided with a simpering bow of obeisance. 

“Dwarves?” the thing echoed, his gaze moving among them. “Not just dwarves.” 

Aleks felt a zot of alarm sputter its way from his tail bone to his throat, leaving his heart fluttering with its passage. The thing looked right at him as it lifted its nostrils into the air and sniffed a few times. Aleks didn’t dare look or in any way draw attention to his friend, but he feared suddenly and deeply for Bilbo. 

“What is this?” the overgrown goblin demanded, one hand pounding upon the armrest of his macabre throne as the other jabbed an accusatory finger Aleks’s way. 

“Oi, he be a dwarf indeed,” Bofur interjected unexpectedly. The dwarf patted him in a patronizing manner before leaning forward to tell the goblin, “Sired by a man of all things. A scandal, to be sure, but what can ye do?”

“Aye,” a number of dwarves responded with alacrity, nodding at Aleks with pitying looks. 

Aleks almost choked up to be defended with such solidarity. Pride touched him, pride to be counted as one of these brave, loyal dwarf warriors. A stray thought: _Don’t let me fail them._

“A crossbred freak?” the goblin guffawed. “Do you take me for a fool?”

Well, actually…

“Where did you find them?” he demanded of his secretarial underling.

“We found them on the front porch,” the little goblin replied, pointing a claw-like fingernail over its shoulder. 

The obese goblin leaned back in its throne, fingers of one hand drumming upon its arm. “Were you waiting for an invitation?” he asked in a silky voice. “Search them! Every crack, every crevice!”

_They’ll find Bilbo._ The dwarves attempted to shield the more helpless members of their party but were overcome by sheer numbers, their weapons stripped away. One grabbed Oin’s ear trumpet and smashed it underfoot like so much rubbish. Aleks handful of ammo was yanked from his pocket and spilled across the ground amid the confiscated swords, axes, war hammers, bows and one lone mattock.

Then a goblin along the sidelines heaved another object onto the growing pile: the Glock. Aleks’s gaze refused to budge from it. So close. _I can get it._ In time? Before they could stop him? 

“And what is this? Another dwarf perchance?” All eyes followed the Gargantuan Goblin’s gaze to land upon the diminutive hobbit. “Bring him forward.”

Aleks tackled the first goblin to try, kicking and punching. “Keep your filthy hands off of him!” 

“Oh, now this is entertaining,” the king goblin purred. “One aberration defending another? Bring him forward, too.”

Hands seized Aleks and dragged him forward. Aleks’s heels skidded across the stone slab underfoot as he struggled to get loose. 

“Let me go!” he spat. Behind, he heard Bilbo’s cry of protest. Bofur attempted to cut the goblins off along with Bifur – a foolhardy attempt – and both were bogged down by dozens of goblins, forced to the ground. 

_Crazy dwarves._ They’d risked themselves for him. He would never, ever forget that. 

Aleks was half-dragged, half-carried before the throne and shoved to his knees. A second later, Bilbo landed beside him, his face pinched. 

“Let’s try this again,” the crowned goblin said with a voice dripping in mock patience. “I ask the question, and you answer. What are you?”

Aleks zipped his lips, his fury rising. This thing dared harm his new family, bully the smallest of them, and expected Aleks to fall into line? _I don’t think so._

“A h-h-hobbit of the Sh-shire,” Bilbo stated, his hands wrapped around his middle. 

“A hobbit?” The fake smile vanished. “Never heard of them.” The milky-looking eyes turned his way next, and Aleks glared back belligerently. “A trouble-maker, I see. But a trouble-maker who will answer me.” The thing leaned forward in his seat, both hands wrapped around the chair arms. “What are you?”

Aleks offered his own insincere smile. “A yeti.”

The creature eyed him this way and that. “And what is a _yeti?”_

Aleks’s smile widened. “We’re a private people. Live in isolated caves. Prone to dandruff. From Azeroth,” he shamelessly rattled off, stealing mismatched material from World of Warcraft. He mentally apologized to Blizzard for the hash he was making of it. Crooking one fist into the air, he said, “For the Horde.”

“You dare mock me?” Brittle, dried bones snapped as the goblin’s hands contorted around the arm rests of his throne. He leaned forward until a huge roll of flabby chin dropped from his lap to dangle between them. A scepter materialized in his left hand, unnoticed until the “king” shoved it against Aleks’s throat, forcing his head up. “I could crush you like a flea, maggot.”

_Big feat there._ The thing’s weight alone would flatten most. Bombur included.

“What,” the creature directed towards Bilbo, “are you doing in my domain, hobbit of the Shire?”

The hobbit gaped for a moment like a fish out of water. Tugging at his coat, Bilbo struggled to formulate an answer. “Well, ah. I, ah.”

“We’re lost, see?” Bofur chimed in from behind them. His proclamation was instantly followed up with a grunt and explosive coughing. 

“What is your business in these parts?” the grotesque goblin demanded of Bilbo. “Speak!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aleks saw Bilbo lick his lips, then firm his shoulders, his sight focusing off beyond the goblin. 

The fleshy goblin hauled himself off his throne, scepter clenched and raised high. _“You will answer my questions,”_ he roared. His glare was directed over Aleks’s head, moving from dwarf to dwarf. 

None answered. 

A sly smile tilted up the goblin’s pudgy lips. “Very well. If you do not choose to speak willingly, we’ll try a little _gentle_ persuasion. Bring up the mangler! Bring up the bone breaker!”

With the groan of rusty gears, a team of goblins off to Aleks’s left began to crank a weathered wheel by its projecting spokes, hefting a thick rope around its axis…and bringing up the requested equipment. 

“We’ll start with the yeti.” The scepter hit Aleks in the skull hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to do serious damage. _Yet,_ Aleks amended. 

A strange sort of fierce, petrified satisfaction claimed him. The Universe – or god, or whatever label one wished – had tried to break him countless times. Murdering his parents before his very eyes. Finding out his sister’s culpability, her sheer stupidity, that had allowed it to happen. This followed by years of isolation, no one to trust, no one caring but the one person he could never forgive. 

Until now. Now, he had a family worth fighting for. He dared them. He absolutely _dared_ them to try and make him flinch now. 

A platform reached their level with the audible click of something locking into place. Upon it Aleks beheld the two requested objects: one a nightmarish implement made of incredibly thick iron or steel and the other a torturous device fitted with manacles and what looked to be leather straps near the head area. 

A shiver of fear wracked his spine. Aleks clenched his teeth. He wished he did believe in a higher power, because he saw no way out of this. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – betray his king. 

The dwarves all shouted protests as the goblins dragged Aleks towards the contraptions, but one voice rose above the others. “Hold!” the commanding voice bellowed. 

_Thorin._

“No!” Aleks yelled, surging against the hands pinning him in place. “Don’t!” His eyes met Thorin’s over his shoulder, begging him not to risk himself. 

Thorin gave him a steady, penetrating look, his entire bearing one of absolute nobility and power. He shrugged off the few goblins attempting to gain purchase upon him and walked closer, his attention now all for the goblin king.

“Well, well, well,” the goblin chortled. “Look who it is. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain.” The monstrous being executed a low bow of obeisance, the gesture ripe with mockery. Aleks’s temper flared dangerously, and he struggled again against his captors.

“Oh, but I’m forgetting.” The rotund creature smirked. “You don’t have a mountain, so you are not a king. Which makes you…nobody really.”

Aleks exploded. His right arm won free, and his fist few at the goblin, connecting with its jaw. 

“Aleks,” Thorin hissed.

“You are not fit to lick his boots, you disgusting slug,” he spat. 

The goblin howled in fury, and mobs of his underlings assailed Aleks, kicking, biting and slicing at him with bladed weapons. Down he went under their combined weights. The noise level became deafening as goblins and dwarves all yelled and screamed at the top of their lungs. 

An object connected with Aleks’s skull, and he saw stars. His jacket and shirt shredded under the attack, and he felt searing pain as they tore into his back.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he spat into the writhing mass assaulting him. “You cowards. Slugs!”

OoOoOo

Thorin bit back angry epithets. He’d known Aleks’s temper would land him in trouble at some point, but he had not imagined something as grave as this! The boy lay in a heap upon cold stone, his face bruised and smeared with grime, blood and spittle. The pale skin of his back now bore a ghastly mosaic of scarlet slashes.

The muscles around Thorin’s neck clenched. He held himself in check, glaring at the obese caricature of a ruler before him. 

“That’s enough.” At the head goblin’s mild tone, the others backed away. Those watery, filmy eyes turned his way. “I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head,” the goblin continued. “Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak? An old enemy of yours. A pale orc astride a white warg.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched. Did this creature think he could be so easily fooled? “Azog the Defiler was destroyed,” he growled. “He was slain in battle long ago.”

“So you think his defiling days are over, do you?” the goblin mocked. With a sly little smile, he ordered an underling, “Sent word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize.”

The underling scurried away, disappearing from Thorin’s sight. 

_Could it be?_ His disbelief accumulated a definite dent. _I’ll kill him. If Azog lives, I will hunt him down and remove his filth from Middle Earth._

The “slug” – a pithy slur – started to wave his hands in the air as he sang a sick little ditty about torture. Thorin’s lip curled back a hair beyond his control. _Disgusting creature._ Many of the goblins danced crude jigs. Thorin eyed the distance to the pile of weapons. Could they gain them quickly enough if he called the charge? 

By sheer happenstance, one less-spry goblin tripped into the pile, sending Orcrist scuttling across the stone floor to the _slug’s_ feet. The blade slipped a bare four inches from its sheath. 

The goblin ruler reacted with horror. _“I know that sword._ It’s the Goblin-Cleaver. The Biter. The blade that sliced a thousand necks!” He stumbled over his own feet in his rush to climb up onto his throne, flattening his own people without care. “Kill them all!”

Mayhem ensued. Thorin shouted the charge, leading his Company to their weapons. Goblins barred their way, but Thorin would not be deterred. They would win free. He’d accept nothing less. 

A strangely familiar clap sounded from behind him, painfully loud and knocking all of them from their feet. “Take up arms! Fight! Fight!” 

_Gandalf._

“You heard him,” Thorin bellowed. 

Dwalin barreled past, Bombur on his heels, and dove into the weapons pile. Both tossed possessions over their shoulders at the rest of the Company. Kíli and Fíli snatched their bow and swords from mid-air and took up protective stances at his side. _Good._ The better to keep track of his nephews. 

“Dwalin,” Thorin called. The bald dwarf looked to him. “Aleks.”

“Got him,” Nori shouted over the din. 

“Hurry, this way!” Gandalf cried.

Thorin shoved both Fíli and Kíli before him in the direction of Gandalf’s voice. Nori fell in behind him, Aleks slung over his shoulder like a sack of hops, and his family clustered around them. Taking up the rear were his trusted guards: Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.

“Where’s Bilbo?” Dori called out as they raced across the first bridge, fighting their way through viciously agile goblins. “Where’s our burglar?”

“Here,” Thorin heard near his elbow. He did a double-take. Gandalf had said that hobbits could pass unnoticed if they wished, and Thorin was beginning to believe it. 

Orcrist moved like satin steel, parrying one strike on his left before blocking a crushing blow from the left. Bilbo wielded his glowing sword in awkward swings, not nearly fast enough to save his skin. Thorin had to do it for him, defending them both. For a time, Thorin had no time for thought beyond moving from one foe to the next and countering attack after attack. 

Orcrist lived up to its name. Goblins fell to its wrath in numbers unparalleled. As Thorin fought his way down a second, swinging bridge, he had a single breath in which to take stock – his dwarves fought on, all accounted for. Relief mixed with a savage satisfaction. Aging, aye, some of them were. And a handful without formal training, yet they made such a showing as to make any leader proud. 

The party fought for every inch in their flight through the goblin town. The overwhelming number of foes was staggering. Thorin refused to allow his mind to make comparisons between the odds now and those before the walls of Khazad-dum. These, at least, were goblins. Agile and bestial they might be, but they lacked the power and intelligence of the orcs. 

The Company’s saving grace.

Up and down ramps, across more bridges – at one point, his enterprising dwarves utilized a filched ladder to serve in such a capacity. The second Bifur stepped off, he kicked the ladder askew, sending it crashing down to the rocks far below. The goblins parted like a river as they sought alternative routes to their prey. 

And then their flight came to a screeching halt. The goblin king burst through the wooden floor and confronted their wizard with mocking words. Thorin shoved his way forward, but Gandalf’s sword sliced across the creature’s belly, then neck, ending the threat. 

The wizard panted and looked back over them. “This way.”

Gandalf took a sharp turn and led them away from the vast cavern into a system of worm-like caves. Thorin spared a thought to hope the wizard knew where he was going, but the avalanche of goblins caught up with them, and the fighting turned fierce at their rear. He added his sword to the mix, hacking and slashing, his blade seeking kill spots. 

Bifur growled in Khuzdul, “Forty-seven.”

Gloin harrumphed and swung his ax in a wide sweep. “Ha! That’s fifty-three for me.”

Thorin’s left brow inched up. Gloin’s penchant for making everything a competition was legendary. _I wonder what stakes were decided upon._ For if there was competition, there was also a bet. No doubting that where Gloin was involved. 

“You’re both slow,” he interjected with a brief smile. 

“Oh? How’s that, my king?” Gloin dodged around a slender goblin wielding a pair of daggers to again swing his great ax in a wide arc. Bombur dispatched the goblin with a solid whack on the head with his ladle. 

“I passed sixty some time ago. Is age catching up with you, my friend?” He hid his smile as the red-headed dwarf immediately bristled, huffing and puffing as he denied the charge.

Time ceased to have meaning. How many miles they’d traversed in this labyrinthine system of caves, Thorin knew not. Time was counted by the foes that fell to Orcrist and by the sweat of the brow. At his command, his dwarves began to rotate the rearmost position, allowing fresher fighters to engage the enemy while those spent could move to the relative safety of the leading edge behind Gandalf.

Hours passed. When Thorin detected a glimmer of daylight, he first attributed it to fatigue or wishful thinking. Gandalf navigated around an abrupt turn, and they burst out of the mountain and into bright sunshine.

The goblins did not pursue, their dislike of sunlight sufficient deterrence in this instance. _For now,_ Thorin thought, keeping a close watch on the cave’s mouth.

The Company’s steps immediately slowed. More than one paused, hands to knees as they bent over gasping for breath. Bofur grabbed Bombur into a tight hug, his eyes bright with unshed tears. Bifur placed an arm around the two. Thorin’s hands adopted a fine tremor as he pressed palms to his eyes, letting out a huge breath. 

Dropping his hands, he addressed his Company. “Injuries?” His gaze landed upon Aleks, and he walked over to where Nori had set the lad down. Oin was already bent over him. “Oin?” 

Aleks’s green eyes were open and turned at Thorin’s voice. “My king,” the lad whispered.

Any anger he’d harbored for the boy had long since burned itself out. Aleks’s temper needed to be sheathed, but he could not fault him after his ringing proclamations. Thorin knelt upon one knee, arms resting upon the other. “I am honored by such loyalty from one not born one of us. Make no mistake, Master Hunt, you _are_ one of us.” More than one dwarf grunted in affirmation of his statement. Thorin placed one hand on the young man’s shoulder. “But we _will_ be discussing your temper. You are lucky to be alive. You realize this?” 

Aleks grimaced but croaked, “Yeah.”

“Try to work on that,” Thorin commanded.

Aleks’s lips quirked. “Do or do not. There is no try,” he murmured. The lad read his expression and said, “A quote. From my old world.” Then very seriously, he added, “I couldn’t let them say those things.”

Was the lad even hearing him? Sighing to himself, Thorin considered that perhaps his naiad was too tired and injured for this conversation. To Oin, “How fares our satyr?”


	17. Dwarves in Trees

### Chapter 16

The gentle rocking felt almost like a mother’s arms. I snoozed in spurts, having been at last transferred back into my golden-auraed friend’s care when I couldn’t settle in his son’s. I didn’t think the other elf was Legolas, or a Faerie version of Legolas, but I hadn’t heard his name – or not recognized it as such if it had been uttered. 

My thoughts returned to the _ellon_ holding me. A part of me insisted he was Thranduil, yet the memory of the macabre versions of my brother and the younger Durin seemed proof otherwise. I seemed perpetually on the precipice of indecision, largely fed by the overwhelming desire not to believe I was in Faerie. It was stupid. I was stupid. But there it was. Waffle, waffle, waffle. I ping-ponged between reality and fantasy, hope and terror. 

_Does it matter what is real?_ For the moment, I was safe. No matter what the elf behind me was or was not, I’d sensed his character through the interplay of our auras. Bottom line: I had to trust someone, and he was it. He was my stand. 

Through slit eyes, I caught snatches of our surroundings as the party of elves rode in an easterly direction through the blighted woods. True to character, Thranduil’s mount proved to be a huge elk, pure as snow with silver-kissed antlers spreading over his noble head in an impressive array. The Elvenking’s standard waved above the large party, the banners affixed to long, wooden poles connected to the other elves’ saddles. The same hunter green iced with gold embroidery adorned the headstalls of the party’s horses and the elves’ tabards. 

Thranduil’s son urged his blood bay closer. His soft words were a lyrical rush of Sindarin too fast for me to hope to follow. I thought I detected the word _ada_ in the mix, solidifying his position in my mind.

He rode his horse with easy grace, his hands relaxed around a bow. A quiver full of arrows peaked over his back along with two long, narrow stick-like weapons. Both had wicked-looking tips. He wore his silvery hair loose but for two thin braids that were tied back behind his head with an ornate, filigree thong of silver encrusted with small gemstones near the base of his head. Not emeralds, I didn’t think. Peridot, maybe. 

As if sensing my scrutiny, those incredible eyes lowered to meet mine. He wore a circlet composed of lush greens shot through with tiny white and yellow flowers, all now dingy gray in the darkness. They did nothing to make him appear jovial or feminine. His dark green apparel looked muddy brown and unlike the clothing worn by those in Rivendell. His attire was utilitarian, constructed of solid leathers and tight, durable cloths. 

I detected warm humor and bright interest in the tilt of his head and quirk of his lips. 

_“Man eneth lin?”_ I rasped, swallowing against a dry throat. I had to know. Was this Legolas? Or Faerie’s version, anyway? “Are you Legolas?”

A callused finger crooked my chin up until I stared into shadowed eyes set into a chiseled, regal face. Thranduil’s golden hair hung like a dark, silken sheet, all perfectly behaved with not a single strand daring to fall out of line. A magnificent crown of woven branches, greater than his son’s, circled his head. 

“How do you know that name?” A thread of warning entered into his voice, and I felt myself in sudden danger.

OoOoOo

Thranduil watched carefully as all emotion leeched from her face. A glassy sheen filled her strangely almond-shaped eyes, and her body turned wooden. Her voice, when she spoke, lacked all life. Within the space of one flick of a finger, the young, hurting female had been replaced by a corpse. “You won’t believe me.”

Caranoran’s gaze hurried to his, his son’s grip upon his bow tightening. 

Thranduil commanded him to silence with a lifted finger out of sight of the naiad. “You forget, _fileg,_ that as you gleaned from me, so I learned of you through the woods.” He moderated his tone to an even calm, focus seemingly upon the forest around them, his very posture a schooled casualness. A potent tool, one he used ruthlessly when needed. 

How could she know Legolas’s name when she was not of Arda? 

His son glared at him. Their naiad was wounded in some way. Damaged. Thranduil felt his own formidable temper rumbled to life, something he could not allow. _That_ one always capitalized upon it.

As predictable as the seasons, a voice whispered to him, _She is a danger. Do not fall prey to her schemes._ So gentle, that voice. So sickly in its feigned concern. 

Thranduil ignored it. It had detected the powerful way the naiad could combine her abilities with the Elvenking’s and would undermine any accord between them. Logic noted and accepted it while the rest of him dug in for what would surely prove to be yet another long war between his own intellect and resources and the lies of the cunning evil infesting his lands. 

It had played its hand too early, he thought with satisfaction. Overtaking his forest had given _it_ access to the Elvenking. If it had moved subtly, it might have won this siege. Instead, it had stormed in, full of confidence, underestimating the rightful ruler here. 

But still, it continued its quest to claim his lands. Through his bond with these woods, it sought to inject its poison into Thranduil himself. He would have to remain on guard where its influence regarding the naiad was concerned. 

Fury threatened to rise, a fury at Thror and his accursed greed which had robbed Thranduil of the tools he needed to safeguard his people. 

_May he rot._

Whether the words originated from Thranduil or _it,_ the Elvenking was uncertain in that moment. It hit him like ice water in the face. 

_I will protect what is mine,_ he reiterated to himself, knowing it likely heard through the wood-link. 

The Elvenking turned back to the small creature sitting before him. He shook her gently, and her eyes flew to him. “Tell me,” he coaxed.

OoOoOo

A long finger tapped my chin. “What damage do you do to yourself, hiding in this fashion?” Thranduil asked, genuine disturbance in his voice.

I swallowed, only then realizing I’d clammed up again. Turned into Statue Girl. Good to know that defense wasn’t completely obliterated. 

I pondered my answer. This was Faerie. It did zero damage to tell him what I knew and how. Perhaps it would be the impetus that would lead him to share why he feigned being the Elvenking. You had to trust to earn trust…right? 

Oh, but trusting was hard. _You said he was your stand._ True enough. I prodded myself into speech. “You remember when we met? I asked if this was Faerie or Middle Earth?”

A slow dip of the head. 

“The land I’m from, they have volumes of books about Middle Earth.”

“You say that as if you are not from Arda,” the son interjected, his horse prancing along just off the elk’s right shoulder. 

“I’m not.” I didn’t turn away from the Elvenking for a second. “You know I’m not.”

Another dip of the head. “These tomes mention my son, Legolas?”

My fingers knotted around each other near my waist. “Yes.”

His gaze lifted, releasing me. I sagged against him with a gusty exhale. Thranduil’s son restrained himself, but the slight upturn of his lips told me he found my reaction infinitely amusing. 

“My _adar_ has that effect,” he murmured. 

The man behind me reached back and returned with a bota, uncapping it with a flick of the thumb. He pressed it into my hands. When I looked up in askance, he said, “Drink, _penneth.”_

Somewhat reassured, I tipped it back and swallowed tepid water. 

Once I slaked my thirst, the bota was tucked out of sight again. Thranduil retreated into silence, his posture turning forbidding, not welcoming any additional inquiries his way. I got the impression he was giving my words serious consideration and probably reviewing our previous exchanges.

My gaze returned to the tall, silver-haired _ellon_ to our right. The elf’s fine, silver-gray brows flickered. A minute smile hovered over his thin lips. “Suliad, penneth. I am Caranoran. _Pedich i lam edhellen?” Greetings, little one,_ I translated. The last bit eluded me. 

I scrunched my nose and twisted my lips. “You lost me with that last.”

A short grin. “I asked if you spoke our tongue.”

Ah. “A few phrases only.” My head settled back into a comfortable notch on Thranduil’s chest as my momentary fright abated and lethargy returned. 

“What are you called, _penneth?”_ Caranoran asked.

“Daphne.” 

“Mae govannen, Daphne.” Gentle. Curious. His head tilted to the side. “We had begun to believe my _adar_ made you up.”

An amused grunt issued from the chest beneath my head. “A king has no use for tales, _ion nin.”_

“As you say, _Ada.”_ A wicked little grin flashed, barely smothered.

OoOoOo

A chorus of menacing howls vaporized the pool of relief surrounding the party. Aleks’s eyes snapped open.

“Wargs!” Ori cried out, the scholar’s short beard quivering – or maybe that his whole body, Aleks speculated. Either way, Aleks agreed with the sentiment. His veins pounded with one message: flee. His hands pressed into the loam beneath him, and he tried to lever himself off the ground. 

“Out of the frying pan…” Thorin muttered from his left.

“And into the fire,” Gandalf finished. “Run.”

Fíli and Kíli hauled Aleks to his feet. Each thrust a shoulder under his arms and carted him away, Aleks’s feet flopping in an attempt to assist but unable to bear a fraction of his own weight. 

“Now what?” he choked out, pain signals flaring throughout his body. Those goblins had worked him over but good. And worse, he’d been carried off by his fellows before he could reclaim his Ruger, much less his duffle with his bow and rifle.

“Into the trees,” Thorin commanded in a parade-ground voice. 

Aleks’s head craned upwards. Climb a tree? Yeah, that wasn’t happening. 

Before he could wig out, Thorin and Dwalin took Fíli and Kíli’s places. The heirs shimmied up a tree, securing themselves perches upon a lower branch. With legs and one arm hooked over it, they leaned down with a proffered arm each. Without a word, Thorin and Dwalin hurled him at them. 

The Durin brothers snatched him up, dragging him into the branches. The three scrambled higher and higher as wargs tore at the base of the tree, destroying any wood limbs within reach. And their reach was higher than Aleks could have imagined. Powerful hindquarters projected them a good fifteen feet into the air, and crushing jaws aided them to gain purchase. The snarling, snapping horde of them clawed and ripped their way into the canopies. 

“No way,” Aleks said, his body paralyzed as he struggled to digest what he was witnessing. _Dogs_ in _trees?_

_These ain’t no dogs,_ a part of him corrected. 

Fíli backhanded him across the chest. “Move!” His twin mustache braids whipped through the air as Fíli engaged the enemy with hands fisted around swords. The swords rotated in a complex pattern, denying the two closest wargs any access to the three of them. Then the pattern broke with no warning, one sword darting outward in an elegant arc to slice deep into one furred throat. Before it could react, the glittering wall of blades reformed. 

_Dude._

From a distance, Aleks heard a guttural voice shout orders. Was it a goblin? The bright sunny day had darkened as if dusk had fallen, which would allow them to travel outside of their caves. Right? 

Kíli’s arm wrapped around his chest from behind and aided him to retreat higher into their tree. Once again, the thought crossed his mind about how helpful a dryad would be. _Why,_ he asked himself furiously, _do I even think about her?_ She’d wronged him. She _deserved_ his hatred. Yet on its heels: _You did the same to her._ Agh! How he detested the sour guilt the mere thought of her now engendered.

With brutal determination, Aleks wiped her from his mind, denying the guilt a place. He’d been justified. Because of him, the dwarves were safe. That was all there was to it.

He and Kíli scaled their tree to its very peak. Face contorted in pain and exertion, Aleks wrapped arms around the thin bole, his attention locked upon the struggle taking place around him. Fíli stood his ground, now surrounded by three of the wargs, with more snarling just below. Kíli’s arrows rained down, picking them off, but there seemed from Aleks’s vantage point to be a never ending supply. The trunk writhed with black fur. 

Checking for energy signatures confirmed it – humanoid shapes lurked in the background, directing efforts as the wargs ravaged the trees. _Can’t just sit here,_ he thought. Aleks painfully yanked his boots from his feet, tying the laces and tossing them over one shoulder. 

“Aleks?” Kíli hissed.

Ignoring the dwarf’s incredulity, Aleks propped himself against the branch beneath him and leaned down to gain a clear vantage point. With a shaky inhale, he allowed enough satyr to bleed into existence to sharpen his abilities, turning his feet to hooves. Calling upon every scrap of knowledge he possessed, he spoke to one of the wargs.

_“Why do you hunt us?”_ he asked in canine-speech. 

The warg slipped and almost fell from the tree. The attack upon Fíli halted as those close enough to hear Aleks retreated a safe distance to stare at him.

“Aleks?” Kíli whispered with urgency. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get them to back off,” he returned in low, clipped tones. _“We are not your enemy.”_

The nearest warg’s baleful eyes narrowed. _“You are food,”_ it growled, a definite purr to its voice. _“If you prefer, we can do this in a…civilized manner. Come down like good prey, and there will be no fight.”_

The other wargs howled in high humor. 

_“You enjoy lapping at that creature’s feet like a good dog?”_ he asked in return. 

All howls ceased as if cut off by a switch. The heat of their collective glares threatened to flay the skin from his frame. _“We are not dogs,”_ their speaker growled in a low rumble. 

“Aleks?” Kíli called again. “You’re making them mad.”

“So? What are they going to do? Kill us more?” To the wargs, _“You obey the commands of one not your own. Sounds very much like a lap dog to me.”_

_“You, I will keep alive until the Pale Orc has finished with your alpha. You will watch as we consume each of your pack.”_

As threats went, it was absurdly effective. Aleks flinched backwards. 

“What did you say?” Fíli shouted, then quickly burst into movement as the wargs attacked in unison. 

“What _did_ you say?” Kíli repeated, his voice tight with anger. 

“Who is the Pale Orc?” Aleks asked.

“What?” Kíli’s head snapped around. He returned to facing forward just as fast, releasing another arrow. “Where did you hear that?”

Where else? Aleks swayed, for a moment overcome by exhaustion and pain. Trying to influence those creatures had been useless, and he’d expended more energy – much more energy – than he could afford. “From them,” he said with a head nod.

What Kíli’s next words might have been, they were derailed as the tree under them jerked. Kíli’s widening brown eyes panned Aleks’s way.

Aleks’s heart skipped. _This can’t be good._ The weight of the wargs’ combined assault was uprooting the tree from the shallow soil. The instant the wargs became cognizant of that fact, they moved to capitalize upon it, all of them dropping to the ground to charge and slam against one side of the trunk. 

Fíli was left with feet splayed upon his branch, swords defensively before him but no foe left to fight. 

“Mahal,” Kíli breathed, his bow lowering. Then louder, “Fíli!”

The face that Fíli turned up to them was gray with fatigue. He swayed on his bough, hands white upon the hilts of his weapons. Black warg and goblin blood splotched his brown fur coat and speckled his blond hair and cheeks. His swords dripped gore. 

“Fíli,” Kíli said, offering a hand down. “Hurry, Brother.”

With a shake of his shoulders, the blond dwarf thrust his blades into their sheaths and leaped up to grab hold of a branch just within reach. The bough shuddered and shed leaves as Fíli hiked one leg around its girth.

_Crack!_

The tree dipped, tipping over backwards. 

“Kíli,” Fíli shouted with command. “When it hits the other trees, jump.” His eyes caught Aleks’s, a clear entreaty in their depths: _Take care of my brother._

Aleks nodded shortly. In every way that counted, Kíli was the youngest of them. Oh, Aleks had less years, but the dwarf was innocent in a way Aleks was not. Even Ori had more weathering to him, more depth in his eyes when he looked at you. You knew he’d had some hits from life already despite Dori’s mother hen routine.

A series of splintering snaps, and the tree keeled over. Aleks shoved his own pains from him and kept close watch as Kíli jumped. Aleks followed him a split-second later. Kíli landed like a blasted monkey, his arms nimbly grasping a limb and pulling him astride it. 

Aleks…didn’t.

It was Bofur who saved him from a one-way trip down a warg’s throat. The toymaker grinned so wide his cheeks looked in danger of splitting as he dangled upside down by his legs, Aleks caught and hanging from his extended arms. “Well, now. Seems to me I’ve seen some young lassies do this a couple ‘o times. Tumblers, they were, of the race of men. Never thought I’d be emulating them. And pardon my saying so, it lacks something without the lassies.”

Despite the circumstances, Aleks snorted. It was the hat – still firmly planted upon the dwarf’s dark head. 

“Thanks, man.”

_“Oi,_ don’t ye be calling a solid dwarf a man, young naiad,” Gloin said, his ruddy face cracking a brief smile. The redhead helped Bifur to draw Aleks up to them. Below, slavering wargs attacked the new tree. 

“Fíli?” Aleks asked Bifur.

The wild-looking dwarf grunted and inclined his head in a short bob. Following his gesture, he saw the Durin brothers united a limb above them. 

Their tree lurched. Aleks groaned. 

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me,” he heard Dwalin growl nearby.

Down the tree toppled. Bifur’s hand locked about Aleks’s wrist and carried him along as they leaped from one tree to the next, then another as the trees fell like Dominoes. In the end, the entire Company perched upon the last tree standing like a sentinel at the cusp of the cliff. 

“Blimey,” Aleks heard Gloin grumble from below. 

A flaming projectile hurled down from above. _What?_ Twisting to look up, he spotted Gandalf setting fire to pine cones and handing them off to the others, who in turn hurled them at the wargs below. Each pine cone hit like a small bomb, igniting the underbrush on contact. Wargs growled and whined, backing away. Hotter and hotter the combined embers glowed, shooting flames high into the air. The air shimmered with heat, distorting everything beyond their small group. Aleks coughed as ash clogged the atmosphere, burning his eyes and lungs.

Thorin leaned forward, body stiff and gray eyes reflecting back the crackling fire. Aleks followed his gaze, stilled as he spotted…

“The Pale Orc,” Aleks whispered.

“It can’t be,” he heard Fíli say above him. “He died. Azog died before the walls of Khazad-dum.”

Aleks’s lips twisted. _Yeah, well, looks like someone forgot to share that newsflash with Azog._

The orc in question grinned maniacally, his hairless head held high. Foreign words spewed forth from his lips, words that hit home if Thorin’s response was any indicator. As the tree shuddered and toppled lower, Ori and Dori spilled from its branches. Aleks’s heart about stopped as he witnessed Ori dangling over the cliff with only Dori’s frantic grip upon a branch to prevent a very lethal fall for them both. 

“Brothers!” Nori dove for them, the thief’s hands scrambling upon Dori’s coat sleeve for purchase.

Amid it all, Thorin stood like the king he was, shoulders thrown back, jaw set and Orcrist in a tight hold. 

“Uncle?” Fíli asked.

Thorin charged down the slope of the tree’s tilted bole, no hesitation in his bearing. Azog cackled and kicked his warg, a white warg, into motion, racing towards their leader. 

No. _I can’t lose him._ Unreal chills pebbled Aleks’s flesh as horror filled him. He’d lost his father. He couldn’t lose the closest thing he’d had to a replacement. Not now. Not before his very eyes in violence just like his _appa._ Yet his limbs refused to move. Just like the last time, fear kept him rooted, unmoving. 

Thorin clashed with the orc, bobbing beneath the orc’s powerful swing. Orcrist sliced across the creature’s chest, too shallow to do more than anger him. Aleks’s hands spasmed around the tree as satisfaction filled him. Thorin had drawn first blood. 

It proved short lived. The warg’s vicious canines snapped down upon the dwarf, trapping him in its grasp and wrenching a cry from him before it tossed him away with a jerk of its head. 

“No!” The word burst from Aleks in a scream. He flashed to full satyr form, his antlers tangling in the tree’s branches as disbelief drew him forward.

Yet a smaller form barreled past him, a glowing blue sword held at the ready. 

_Bilbo._

The hobbit fairly flew across the burning land, unmindful of the flames that barred his way. He jumped over a fallen tree that was fully ablaze and planted himself before the dazed king.

OoOoOo

“Stay back,” Bilbo said, his sword pointed straight toward the mounted orc.

Thorin wobbled to his feet, Orcrist in hand. Shock coursed through his system upon witnessing the incongruity of it: the smallest of their band taking on the greatest of foes. 

_What does he think he’s doing?_

Anger surged. How dare the hobbit risk himself in so foolish a manner? It warred with a deep sense of shame. He’d given the small hobbit no respect – _A burglar? Him?_ – but then, if there was one thing Thorin detested, it was waste, the throwing away of lives, and that is exactly what Gandalf had done when he’d asked the innocent, unprepared halfling to join them. Thorin needed no innocent blood on his hands. The entire situation had infuriated him, yet he’d felt obligated to heed the wizard.

Now, here stood the trembling hobbit, ready to spend his life to save Thorin’s. “Bilbo, stay back,” Thorin said, pressing the small one behind him. Orcrist’s broad length shielded them both as Azog commanded his underlings to destroy the hobbit, leaving Thorin for Azog. 

The wargs and the riders stalked closer with evident relish. Thorin and Bilbo brandished their weapons.

The Durin battle cry rent the air. Fíli charged into the fray with Balin, Dwalin, Kíli, Bofur, Bifur and Bombur right behind. 

And, he noted a second later, young Aleks. The satyr bore no weapons, but seemed almost berserker with rage, lashing out with hooves, antlers and fists. The enemy closed in, cutting off the naiad from his line of sight, and Thorin engaged a goblin while Bilbo protected his flank, crossing blades with a second. 

Azog chose that moment to strike. The crude mace and its wielder appeared in his peripheral vision. Thorin had time to register that fact, and then the mace slammed into his chest.

OoOoOo

Aleks saw Thorin take that brutal hit. The dwarf king flew backwards, crashing onto the carpet of dead leaves.

“Thorin!” he yelled, incensed. He tore into the nearest obstacle in his path, a warg, as Bilbo once again assumed a protective stance over the fallen monarch. Aleks’s left hoof slammed into the warg’s haunch like a sledgehammer. The _dog_ whined and snapped at him, but Aleks twisted away. Hot canine breath puffed against his arm.

_Where’s my jacket?_ He couldn’t remember removing it, couldn’t remember, really, joining the fray. Thought was too taxing and distracting. 

_“I will eat your entrails, freakish creature,”_ his foe growled. 

Aleks forgot about Thorin as his rage boiled over. _Freak._ He’d heard that often enough from Marcus’s werewolves. _Freak._ It echoed through his head, punching every button he had. Aleks’s vision turned crimson. With a roar, he tore into the warg. In that moment, it became the source of every pain he’d ever been dealt – every insult, every slight, every abuse. 

He didn’t remember dispatching the warg, though he must have as he pounded its skull into the ground with his hooves. He didn’t remember choosing another opponent, but found himself laughing as a goblin’s blade sliced open a gash upon his bicep. 

The pain never touched him. 

The goblin spat something in its twisted tongue, and Aleks’s fist collided with its nose, breaking it. The goblin’s sword swooped down at him. Aleks leaped to the side, barely noticing the toll it took on his body. 

Aleks’s leg shot out, connecting with the goblin’s wrist. The creature’s blade flew from his grasp. _Mine._ A jab to the throat with the blade now held in his fist, and the goblin fell to its knees, choking and sputtering for breath. Aleks rotated the blade, testing its weight. 

He prowled towards another foe.

A foe who vanished in a flurry of feathers and an ear-piercing shriek. For a split second, the rage won, and Aleks raced after the thing, howling for it to return his kill _right now._

An ash- and blood-splattered Gloin stepped into his path and disarmed him with a punishing grip upon his wrist. Aleks snarled, but the gruff dwarf jerked him down to his level by his shirt. 

“Ye’re done, lad. Hear me?” A solid shake. An appalled expression. “What have ye done to yerself?”

Almost. He almost struck at the dwarf, but something _clicked,_ allowing the satyr to slough off, unneeded. 

Aleks gasped as the weight of his body’s ails slammed home. His heart was struggling, pounding painfully in an attempt to bear the burden he’d thrust upon it. Blood covered him, and not just black blood. Rich red flowed from a gouge on his thigh and numerous slices across chest, arms, and one hip. All this on top of the damage he’d sustained in Goblin Central. Aleks dropped to his knees. 

“Thorin?” he managed in a hoarse whisper. Guilt flared. How could he have forgotten Thorin? How could he lose control like that?

If he’d hoped for an answer, it was denied as huge talons wrapped around Gloin and flew off with him. Aleks blinked twice, exhaustion rendering him bleary of both sight and mind. 

Then another of the giant birds – _Dude, are those eagles?_ – snatched him up. The ground raced from view as it beat its mighty wings for altitude. Then it dropped him. Aleks yelped, but he landed a missed heartbeat later upon the back of another of the magnificent creatures. 

Sunlight. His eyes watered at its brilliance, unprepared for the gloom to be so quickly dispelled. 

“Thorin!” he heard shouted.

Finding the source, he spied Fíli and Kíli upon another of the birds, both staring in one direction. Following their gazes, Aleks looked ahead.

His chest tightened to see Thorin dangling lifeless from a bird’s talons. More of his friends called out to their king, but each entreaty yielded no response. If not for the faint glow surrounding the dwarf king, Aleks would have succumbed to the bowels of despair. 

They flew for the longest time. Aleks was distantly aware of the passing snow-tipped mountain tops and beautiful scenery, but he had no attention to spare for it. He ended up splayed across the back of his mount’s downy back, eyes unblinking and locked upon Thorin’s form, watching that tell-tale glow as if it might go out if he turned away.

The first of the eagles set Thorin down with exquisite care upon a butte barely connected near its base to the mountain beside it. The bird back-winged before settling down, and Gandalf’s robed shape darted to the fallen dwarf, kneeling at his side. The other eagles circled the butte, landing one at a time to deposit their passengers. 

Aleks waited impatiently for his own turn. The Durin brothers disembarked next, both running the instant their boots hit the ground. 

Thorin moved. 

He _moved._ Aleks rested his forehead upon his wrist and let his eyes close. Only when his own eagle landed did he re-open them. Sliding to the ground, he said, _“Thank you,”_ to the bird before it left, earning a double-take. 

_“You speak,”_ it said with a squawk. 

_“I do,”_ he responded with a gentle pat upon the feathered body. _“Your care is very much appreciated. Thank you for saving us.”_

A big, wickedly sharp curved beak drew near as it eyed him. _“Such manners. I approve.”_ Without another word, the bird launched itself back into the sky, making room for yet another eagle to land in his place. 

Aleks hurried to the cluster of dwarves forming around Thorin. 

“You!” His steps slowed at Thorin’s harsh tone. Their liege stared down at Bilbo with no expression on his face, weaving on his feet. “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?” He stalked towards Bilbo, who stood all alone near the crown of the butte. “That you had no place among us?”

What was Thorin doing? A horrible fear took Aleks. Disappointment surged. He’d thought he could trust Thorin. Thought…

But then Thorin spoke again. “I have never been so wrong in my life,” he said, closing the gap to wrap Bilbo in a fierce hug. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” He pulled back, holding Bilbo by the shoulders. 

The hobbit cleared his throat and looked away. One bare foot shuffled across the ground, and then he faced the king again. “Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have. And you’re right. I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. My armchair and my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I press on, because…you don’t have one. A home. It was taken from you, but I will help you take it back if I can. I’m not a hero. Or a warrior.” A short glance towards the robed wizard. “Nor even a burglar.” Back to Thorin. “But whatever aid I can offer, it is yours.”

“Gandalf once told me, and I failed to understand at the time,” Thorin mused. “Hobbits truly are extraordinary creatures. It is an honor to count you among us, Master Baggins.”

“Aye,” more than one dwarf affirmed, Bofur the loudest to champion the halfling’s cause. 

Thorin’s gaze fell upon Aleks. “Oin, see to Master Hunt.” Before Aleks could do more than sputter, the king continued, “No objections, Aleks.” To the rest of the party, “We will camp here this night if our hosts do not object.”

At his pointed look, Gandalf leaned upon his staff and shook his head. “No, Gwaihir the Windlord offers us this sanctuary tonight. Food is being gathered. Master Bombur, you will need a large fire.”

Bombur rubbed his hands together with glee.


	18. Santa Clous

### Chapter 17

The practice dummy rocked upon its base as my staff rammed into its side, my entire body behind the herculean swing. Before the reverberations had ceased, I hit it again from the opposite side, lips parted in a silent snarl. The stick Legolas had thrust into my arms to begin with had broken in twenty seconds flat, necessitating the switch to the bigger, stronger stave now in my white-handed grasp. It was heavier. Harder to use. 

Perfect, because I had a lot of rage to work through.

Prince Legolas stood not far away. At first, he’d watched attentively as if waiting for me to tire or admit I needed instruction, but it hadn’t happened. Boredom had set in, and now he honed his archery skills five or six yards away. Why he felt the need to remain on hand, I didn’t know. Maybe he was curious about the only naiad he’d ever encountered. Whatever his motives, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

_Thwack._ My staff slammed across the dummy’s fake head, but the awkward swing had lacked sufficient power to move the sturdy thing. _Thump._ Into the groin area with a spurt of vindicated satisfaction. 

_Miserable, stinking, lousy…_ Words failed me. Nothing could do him justice, the coward. Half-formed epithets streamed from my lips in intelligible mutters. The rage riding me relented not one iota as I set about destroying the dummy, pretending it was Aleks. For years, I’d endured his insults, sprinkled with bouts of stony, hate-filled silences. Years I’d waited for him to come around. Then he approaches me with the olive branch in hand, only for it to be a lie. 

“I knew you hated me, Aleks,” I bit out as my staff crashed down upon the crown of the caricature’s head. “But to lie about something like this?” Each word hissed out with pure venom. 

“How long has she been thus?” 

From the corner of my eye, I identified the speaker as Gellamon, Thranduil’s eldest son and heir. Unlike Caranoran’s open friendliness, Gellaman had been a shock. The tongue-lashing he’d delivered the instant his _adar_ ventured out of ear-shot had cut as he’d intended. 

That, too, fed my anger. If Aleks had not played his cruel game – all but shoving across the line into insanity – some of Gellaman’s accusations would not have been true. I’d endangered the Elvenking unknowingly, and his people through him. 

I smacked the dummy in the kneecaps, once, twice, three times. How could he? How _could he?_ The pain of Aleks’s actions radiated through me like nuclear fallout. It hurt, and hurt, and hurt – so badly that I couldn’t stand it.

Legolas cleared his throat. “You did not hear.”

I could picture Gellaman’s golden brow, the same hue as his father’s, arching over sea-blue eyes. His circlet of silver – no mere crown of green boughs for him – graced his brow like it had been painted on. He wore his hair loose but for twin braids that framed his face, a face all the more regal for the scar that traveled across his right brow from the eye socket to beyond his hairline at his temple. Whatever had caused it, the _ellon_ had been fortunate to survive the event with his vision intact.

His attire was similar to Legolas’s: breeches and tunic, boots and bracers, all of serviceable, tooled leathers coupled with rich, sturdy fabrics. The royal family, it seemed to me, were not ones to put on airs. They dressed as most of their people, for survival. But where Legolas wore muted browns and greens, Gellamon wore a monochromatic sage green a shade darker than my eyes. 

“What have I not heard, _Gwanur?”_ The elf moseyed from his brother’s side, oh-so casual like, his gaze a near physical thing as it landed on me. 

I slammed the stave into the center of the dummy’s chest again, fuming. Gellamon’s sharp words of the night before still stung. I hadn’t meant to endanger Thranduil. How was I supposed to know that pulling my butt out of the fire cost Thranduil so dearly? Or that anger made him susceptible to Sauron’s influence? The books never even hinted at his struggles! 

With a roar of anguish and anger, I swung my stave like a baseball bat. _Crack!_ The dummy crumpled in upon itself.

I panted, chest heaving, and glared daggers at the stupid thing for failing to keep up with my demands. Then a dark sense of accomplishment filled me. The staff fell from my fingers, and I threw both fists into the air, victorious.

The two elves stared, blinking. The crown prince’s brows lifted a bare centimeter. Legolas’s lips curved into a smirk. 

“Feeling better?” the latter asked, lowering his bow. 

Standing there beside his brother, the object of the affections of hordes of adoring fangirls the globe over was every bit as handsome as advertised. Wheat-blond hair fell past his shoulders with intricate braids melting into a seamless and impressive net-like pattern at the back of his skull. Brilliant blue eyes defied easy labeling, and his face deviated enough from his father’s chiseled perfection to hold more warmth. 

Yet for all that, Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm looked downright shabby compared to his elder brother. His hair was Legolas’s one nod to vanity, for his clothes, while clean and in good repair, were slightly less immaculate. He looked like an elf who worked hard and had no time to spare for frivolities.

Except the hair. 

It had been a trip, meeting him in the wee hours or morning – or late last night. In Mirkwood’s plagued depths, there wasn’t much chance of monitoring the passage of time. The oppressive weight of the forest had given way to a glade of healthy trees, marking the boundary into the actual grounds of the Elvenking’s Halls. Stars had peeked between healthy, lush fronds overhead. 

I’d been all tongue-tied and exhausted, overcome by blushing nerves as I stared at Legolas in awe. Only Gellamon’s less welcoming introduction had dislodged me from my drool-girl humiliation.

I swiped my own sweaty mop of brown hair out of my face and considered my answer. Did I feel better? “Marginally,” I decided, my back teeth aching from the way I’d been clenching them together since Thranduil’s revelation earlier that day.

“Something ails you?” Gellamon’s cool regard swept over me. 

I had half a mind to smack the condescension from his face. Little did he know his danger, being a member of the offending gender and within striking distance. 

_Not his fault, not his fault,_ I reiterated to myself as I stooped to pick up my ivory-hued wooden staff. If there was one thing the woodland elves shared with the other elves, it was their love of ornamentation. The staff was proof. Any normal being would have a solid length of wood, maybe sanded to avoid splinters. But to carve out lifelike images of vines, flowers, and birds on something destined for use as a pummeler of people? Weird. 

I held the staff horizontally with both hands, lightly rolling and tossing it into the air as my eyes fell upon the next dummy in the dummy lineup. 

A soft, musical rush of words sprang from Legolas, the words too quickly spoken for me to make any heads or tails of them. Warning his brother off, maybe? 

_Bah, unlikely._ I was a guest, and an unwelcome one at that. Oh, Thranduil treated me with respect and concern. When I’d shared my memories to show him why I again believed myself to be in Faerie, he’d blown a fuse. The Elvenking had stood from where we knelt near a healthy maple, one of dozens in his gardens. Our connection severed, and he’d stalked away, head bowed and hands linked behind his back. 

I’d sat there, baffled, until Caranoran had appeared in the same archway through which his father had exited, a handful of fuzzy, dried orange leaves in his hands. He’d seated himself upon a stone bench, patting the spot beside him, then said, “We have an herb considered a nuisance at best by parents throughout Arda. It is named Orc’s Tongue.” His slender fingers had picked one of the leaves up and twirled it under my nose. “Eat it.”

To say I’d been reluctant was the Understatement of the Century. 

His lips had curled up into a gentle smile. “I, too, will ingest one.” He’d placed one onto his tongue and chewed away, gesturing me to do the same.

The taste had been sickly sweet to the point of repulsiveness. Humor lit up Caranoran’s malachite and aquamarine eyes, but he’d chewed his own bite until he could swallow. Then he’d spoken one sentence: “Do you now believe me when I say this is Middle Earth?” 

I’d almost tumbled off the stone seat. That lyrical voice that could put musical instruments to shame had turned raspy, deep, and sinister. Bowels of _hell_ sinister.

“Holy cow,” I’d said, then jerked to hear my own voice even worse.

“Children across Arda discover Orc’s Tongue young, often aided by older siblings. It is the delight of the young, and every child will try it at least once in an attempt to frighten their parents. This is common knowledge,” he continued in that same, ghastly voice.

An unreal, disconnected feeling began to claim me. “Everyone knows of it?”

Sunlight dappled through the leaves above, glinting upon his silver hair as he bobbed his head, sympathy in his eyes. 

“Kíli and Fíli knew,” I whispered. Well, rasped.

“Your brother’s dwarf companions? Most certainly.”

That short conversation had rocked my world. To think myself in Faerie… How could Aleks _do_ that to me? To hate someone, fine. But to try and deceive them, to drive them insane? That took more than hatred. I could not fathom ever doing that to anyone. Punish a crime, yes, and in Aleks’s eyes and my own, I bore our parents’ blood on my hands. But what he’d done was torture. 

And he’d had help. 

Even now, tears tried to well up in my eyes to think that the dwarves I’d supped with, the at turns jolly and gruff males I’d played _Saboteur_ with, that they would participate… Especially Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur! A part of me howled to think that those three might be involved. 

When the shock had worn off, rage had taken over. I couldn’t believe it, even now having killed one target with every abominable word he’d uttered to deceive me ringing in my ears. My own brother.

That fast, I was in front of another target and beating the living snot out of it. I’d never felt such anger, and I couldn’t seem to get a handle on it. He’d betrayed me. Tried to destroy me. Sweat dripped into my eyes, but I kept coming at the dummy with my stave. 

The worst part about it was that he’d killed my love for him. That one stunt had done what a decade of rejection and cutting insults couldn’t. I _hated_ him, and the knowledge slew me. It was a monstrous feeling so vast that I couldn’t wrap my arms around it. I _did not_ want to become him, and I didn’t want to hate. The feeling clogged up my veins like sludge, leaving me feeling dirty and somehow tainted. 

_Don’t become him._ I had to find some way to deal with this so I wouldn’t. Yet… Tears began to join the sweat, and I whacked and whacked and whacked until a nameless forever later when arms wrapped around me from behind and forced the staff from my hands. I yelled in wordless fury, struggling against the arms holding me. 

“You were to watch her, Legolas,” a voice hissed.

“I was.” Surprise and affront. “She has been engrossed in--”

“Wearing the flesh from her palms?” the other snapped impatiently. Caranoran, I noted with some surprise. When had Gellamon left, and when had the youngest prince shown up?

One hand pinned mine together at the wrist while the other jerked my head around to meet those strange eyes. “You are done,” he said with calm finality. 

Like his words were the cue, all the furious energy puddled away, leaving me a sweaty, stinky ball of shaking muscles. “Oh. Okay,” I said dumbly.

He caught me as my knees buckled and swept me into his arms and into the cave complex that made up the bulk of Thranduil’s palace. Rock walls whitewashed and decorated with amazing murals vied for space with figures carved in relief within the stone itself. One might expect the affect to be gaudy and overplayed, but the opposite proved true. The elves’ art had turned the stone pathways from dank cave into an airy, outdoor feeling. I’d gawked upon my first sight of them.

They were a blur this time, noted by not really absorbed. My head flopped down upon Caranoran’s chest as he hurried along, barking orders at any elf unfortunate enough to cross paths with us. I stared at my palms, at the ripped flesh and bleeding rivulets flowing from them. They’d only begun to throb when Caranoran had pointed them out. My single-minded rage had blinded me to what I’d been doing to myself.

Reaching his destination, he nudged the door open with his foot and strode down the center aisle of a spacious, circular room filled with slender beds arranged against the curved wall like spokes in a wagon wheel. He plunked me down upon one at random before addressing the room’s only occupant, an _elleth,_ or female elf. 

_“Naneth,”_ he greeted with affection.

_His mother?_ Thranduil’s wife lived? I jolted from the bed like it was on fire and promptly face-planted at her sandaled feet. Her ice-blue robes swished as she knelt before me, silvery locks, the exact match of Caranoran’s, spilled over one shoulder. Mossy green eyes homed in upon my sweaty face before moving to my bleeding palms.

_“Ion nin?”_ she asked, and the angels sang. Her voice was that pure. 

Caranoran returned me to the bed with a stern look commanding me to stay put. 

The Elvenqueen perched on the edge of the bed and lifted my palms for inspection. Another _elleth_ bustled in without so much as a slight squeak of the door or noticeable footfalls. 

“Elhael, bring me a basin of water steeped with teatree and calendula,” the Lady said.

“At once, my queen.” The elf maid and her queen, contrary to the majority of the Mirkwood elves, male and female alike, wore rich gowns. 

I cleared my throat and found my voice. “You’re the Elvenqueen,” I said. 

“Queen Rinel,” she said by way of introduction, a small smile curving her lips. “What did you do to yourself, child?”

I half expected Caranoran to answer, but he remained near her side, hands clasped behind him much as his father earlier that day, his amazing eyes watchful.

“Mute?” she asked, her amusement growing. “I know you have a tongue.”

I winced. Okay, so I’d exercised said tongue upon her eldest after his not-so-friendly greeting. He’d partly deserved it, but I knew deep down I’d never have uttered my scathing insults at the prince if I’d been myself. But exhausted and heart-sore, as well as believing all to be a lie anyway, I’d unloaded. Vented the entirety of my spleen on him. 

Not my finest moment. 

“Lady,” I ventured as she dipped my hands into a basin of warm water. The herbs stung, and I inhaled. Her swift look held me still. “I am…” Cleared my throat. “I am so sorry to have offered such words to your son.”

Kindness radiated from her. “My son is strong enough to endure such a scolding and more besides. Do not fret. Although I do believe it has been an age since last he was dressed down so soundly by a youngling.” 

Heat climbed into my cheeks. “That doesn’t matter. What I did was wrong.”

“Understand,” she said, her own voice adopting a slight edge. “We will protect my husband with our last breath, my people and I.” Then more gently, “But I do not believe you mean any harm.” This with a soft pat on the cheek. 

“I didn’t know,” I told her as she dried my hands and spread a soothing, numbing salve upon them. “I only thought…” How to explain?

“You believed lies, _penneth._ Carefully crafted lies. None but Gellamon bears you any hostility for it, and he only because it is his duty. My son is his _adar’s_ chief defender and protector. He anticipates danger where none exists, for someone must do so. No _ellon’s_ judgment is perfect, and he will not lose his _adar_ by underestimating a situation, no matter what his eyes might tell him.”

Satisfied with her work, she briskly bandaged up my hands before capturing my face between her palms. “My Thranduil informs me that with your aid, he was able to drive shadow from a deathly infected tree. Is this true?”

My hesitant, “Yes, Lady,” ignited something within her moss eyes. 

“Then there is hope for us.”

“Lady?” 

As if recollecting where she was, the queen drew herself up, standing with a small flutter of her fingers. “You are without family. Is this so?”

My hands throbbed as I tried to clench them. I looked away, unwilling to see what flashed across her face as I answered, “Apparently so.”

Two fingers coaxed my chin back around. “I would like you to consider making your home among us,” she said. “You are welcome, and more, you are needed. With training, Thranduil is certain the forest plague can be pushed back, allowing our people some measure of ‘breathing room’, I believe men call it.”

I stared down at my bandaged hands. “I have nowhere else to be,” I said at last. 

Her palm cupped my head for one long minute, and then the Elvenqueen swept from the room, the other _elleth_ right behind her.

OoOoOo

Two days after the mind-boggling rescue by the eagles, the dwarves waited across an oak-dotted field from a human-sized farmhouse enclosed by a tall barrier wall of briar. From the slope upon which he stood, Aleks had to squint as he took in the beacon-like glow emanating from within. The place must be teaming with life.

Or _bee_ teaming, he snorted to himself as yet another fist-sized bee buzzed its way over to check out the Company. 

Gloin stared at the fuzzy insect that had taken it upon itself to inspect his clothing, starting with the chest. From the expression on the redhead’s face, Aleks surmised he was none too fond of bees. A trickle of sweat wound its way across Gloin’s temple and down his cheek. 

_Scratch that._ The proud dwarf was petrified. 

“You have an admirer, Master Gloin,” Nori jested with a big grin. 

Gloin held himself carefully erect, his attempted smile a miserable failure. From beneath bushy brows, his eyes fixated upon the bee. More than one dwarf suppressed a chuckle at the sight. Aleks’s lips twitched. He made his way to Gloin’s side with halting, limping steps. 

_“Pardon me,”_ he said to the bee in question. _“But my friend is unfamiliar with your kind. Your actions alarm him.”_

Antennae fluttered between them, and the bee turned so that it faced Aleks directly. Gloin had begun to perspire profusely, his entire face covered with a wet sheen. _“He does not understand duty to Queen?”_ the little creature asked.

Aleks chose his words with care. Bees were all about duty and proper etiquette. _“Duty is the highest virtue,”_ he assured. _“He does not understand that you act to protect your colony.”_

_“We do not sting what is not a threat,”_ it reprimanded kindly.

_“Yes, for to waste life is to endanger one’s duty.”_

_“Yes,”_ the bee said, scurrying along Gloin’s chest to the shoulder nearest Aleks. The dwarf’s wide eyes stared at Aleks in combined horror and hope. _“You understand.”_

_“I do,”_ he affirmed. _“But if you could hurry this duty, my companion is…”_ he suppressed the urge to cough, _“overwhelmed by your reputation. He fears you will not recognize him as an ally.”_

_“Ally?”_ Curiosity and doubt colored the word.

_“Do not the two-legs feed the flowers and ward off those that would raid the hive?”_ Excepting themselves, Aleks thought, but he felt it prudent to shave that part off. 

_“An interesting bit of logic,”_ the bee hummed. _“One I will think upon. Very well, I am done.”_ The bee lifted off and buzzed towards the farm and its gardens without another comment. 

“What did ye say?” Gloin demanded as he raked a shaky hand through his sweat-drenched hair. 

“Bees are a curious sort,” Aleks said, seriously considering sitting down where he stood. “And protective of their territories. He was checking us out. Tasting us, if you will.”

“Why?” Bofur asked, the crazy-hatted dwarf’s face alight with interest. 

“If one of us harms one of them, they can locate us fast.”

“Retribution, you mean?” Nori this time. 

Aleks lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, only to hiss as abused muscles seized up. Pain speared down his back, and he gritted his teeth. 

“We’d do the same if strangers came to the Blue Mountains.” Oddly enough, it was Gloin who made this comment. “We’d want to have a look-see at the visitors, determine if they were friendly-like.”

More than one dwarf nodded in response. 

“Our turn,” Nori said to Gloin. 

Gloin nodded once and marched out, Nori at his side. So it had been since they’d arrived. Per Gandalf’s instructions, they were making their way into the farmhouse two-by-two. 

_Like some kind of reverse Noah._

Aleks eyed the ground beneath him wistfully. The herbal concoction Oin had poured down his throat earlier had worked – he felt a lot less pain – but the exhaustion persisted, and he knew it probably wasn’t in his best interest to remain on his feet. Oin had patched him up with skill, but his body needed time and rest to heal. He needed to not move for a while.

His thoughts turned to their new host. Whoever this Beorn was, Aleks wanted to meet him. A skin-changer – a shape shifter, but a bear instead of wolf. Aleks had seen animal servants exiting and entering the house, upright and doing duties that back home would be reserved for the wait staff, and he was dying to ask the man questions. 

His one glimpse of the enigmatic figure had been brief. He’d gotten the impression of a very tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair and a beard to do a dwarf proud, but that had been it. (Aleks stroked his own short beard automatically, assessing its length.) Gandalf had implied Beorn spoke to animals, and this would be the first time Aleks had someone to swap stories with since his father had been murdered. 

Ori and Dori ventured forth next. 

Eventually, it was Aleks’s and Bombur’s turn. Aleks walked through the briar archway into the farm complex with bated breath. 

“No need to be running, laddie.”

Aleks slowed his steps, biting back impatient words. Bombur moved faster than this. He’d seen it. Was the dwarf teasing him? A check of the overweight dwarf’s round face found it bright with amusement and interest. He’d never much spoken with this dwarf, dismissing him as a lazy if pleasant fool. That preconception shattered as the dwarf’s lips curled up into a smirk. 

Aleks laughed out loud. “I admit, I’m excited to meet him,” he said. 

“Oh? And why might that be, then?” Bombur asked as they assumed a more leisurely pace along the pathway bracketed by two tidy garden plots. To their left was row upon row of lettuces and cabbage while to the right sprawled woody vines with immature pumpkins dotting their lengths. 

Before he could answer, the front door slammed open with enough force to shatter a less-sturdy door. Framed there before them, nose tilted into the air, stood Beorn. Big. _Dude_ was he big. Beorn jogged down the stairs to them on legs as thick as tree trunks, his dark eyes locked upon Aleks. Bombur shifted his weight until he partially shielded Aleks, a fact that startled Aleks as much as Beorn’s sudden appearance. 

From behind the man, Aleks saw Gandalf with a restraining hand upon Thorin’s shoulder, the king’s face hard and suspicious. 

_What gives?_

Beorn looked ready to run them over, but he halted a foot before Bombur’s belly, staring down at Aleks as if Bombur did not exist. The skin-changer sniffed again, eyes at half-mast and face inscrutable. Then, a huge grin broke his austere countenance and big meaty hands grabbed Aleks by the shoulders. 

“Naiad,” the big man proclaimed in a booming voice. “I would know that smell anywhere.” A short frown. “Why do you not also smell of maple?”

_What?_ Aleks blinked.

Hunching down a bit until he was more on Aleks’s level, he said, “I will not make you smile, for I know your god, Santa Claus, forbids it. But you must dance the Macarena for me.”

_“What?”_ he gasped. 

“The Macarena. Though I must confess I preferred the Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” he said, stumbling a bit over the words. “Come, come inside, Little Brother. You are welcome here.”

The big man spun around and waved them onward. 

Aleks felt like he’d blow over if anyone breathed on him. The Macarenda? _Boot Scootin’ Boogie?_

_I died. Those goblins killed me because sure as rain, this must be hell._ Only in hell would Middle Earth be tainted with country-western music and line dancing. _Daphne._ He’d wring her neck. If he saw her again. A spurt of guilt surged to life, quickly smothered. 

“Master Aleks?” Bombur asked under his breath. 

“Aye?” Bah, he was beginning to sound like the dwarves. He almost smiled at that realization. 

“Who is Santa Clous?”

“Claus,” he corrected. “And my sister has some explaining to do. Corrupting Middle Earth with those dances is bad enough. But to defame _Santa?”_

“Who is he?”

Aleks gingerly navigated up the farm’s steps into the refreshing shade. The sun had been hotter than he’d thought. “He’s a magical man who rides in a sleigh led by flying reindeer. He delivers toys to all the children on Earth once a year.” 

_Take that, Daph._ Next time she dissed the man in the red suit, she’d look like a miser. _She’s such a witch._ Only the Ice Princess would bad mouth Santa. 

“Aleks?” Thorin murmured as he reached him.

Reading the question in the king’s eyes, Aleks said, “Apparently, _she_ was here first.”

“Aye,” Balin said from his seat at a long wooden table. The rest of their party lined both sides of the heavy piece of furniture. Food- and crumb-dusted plates rested before each dwarf, testifying to the various stages the dwarves had progressed through their meals.

Aleks and Bombur seated themselves at the foot of the table and were promptly provided plates and mugs of – _Milk?_ Aleks wrinkled his nose – by the animal servants. 

_“Thank you,”_ he told the gray dog who’d served him.

The dog’s ears perked up, and his tongue lolled out. He barked a cheerful, _“Welcome,”_ and trotted off. 

“You speak with the animals.”

All eyes panned to where Beorn sat in a heavy, wooden chair at the head of the table. Aleks paused in tearing off a big hunk of bread from the loaf he’d been given and answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Mannerly, you naiads, but for when intoxicated. No wonder my bees like you.” 

_Intoxicated?_ His straight-laced, prim sister had drunk herself into a proper alcoholic haze? No. Way. Aleks itched at his brow with one knuckle. “Intoxicated?” He didn’t really want to know, did he? Yet, he couldn’t not ask. 

Beorn leaned back in his seat, hands steepled before him. 

The dwarves exchanged worried, insulted looks up and down the table, with Bombur, Bifur and Bofur bristling notably. 

“What, exactly, transpired between you and young Daphne?” Thorin asked with narrowed eyes. “How did you meet her?”

Gandalf cleared his throat. “I believe, my friend, that my companions are concerned about the young lady’s honor.”

Beorn’s brows darted skyward, and his eyes flicked down the length of the table, checking each dwarf, Bilbo and Aleks. Directing his answer towards Thorin, the big man said, “You care for her?”

Thorin leaned forward in his seat in emphasis. “She is Master Aleks’s sister. That makes her ours. We protect our own.”

Two lines of bearded – well, mostly bearded – dwarves bobbed their heads in unison. Aleks refrained from squirming in his seat. They looked so _determined._ Not for the first time, dread filled him as he wondered what Thorin’s response would be to what he had done to his sister. What Fíli and Kíli would think, knowing they’d been used to harm her. 

Beorn shrugged his big shoulders and simply proclaimed, “No harm came to her,” and changed the subject, turning to Gandalf. “You have not finished your tale.”

OoOoOo

That night, the skin-changer made plans with Thorin and Gandalf, promising to arrange provisions as well as ponies to carry them to the edge of Mirkwood. From that point, the dwarves would be on foot.

Aleks wandered outside to be alone, the murmur of low dwarvish voices a backdrop that rose and fell through the open door. With a sigh, he sat upon a wooden bench beside the front stoop, head craning back to look at the stars as his fingers ran over the smooth face of his _appa’s_ pocketwatch rhythmically. 

“Your sister mourns for you, Little Brother,” the skin-changer had said to him privately not long before. The words followed him and made his guilt all the heavier. He’d rebuffed the big man, but Beorn had proved to be persistent. “You carry such a burden.”

_“I_ carry a burden?” he’d spat back, lowering his voice with Thorin’s admonition in the back of his mind. He’d tried to hold his temper. 

“Yes,” the big man had said with a sorrowful nod of the head. “Unforgiveness. Anger. Bitterness. You hurt yourself and your sister, Little Brother.”

Rage had filled him. “I am not your little brother,” he’d railed, his voice rising until every dwarf in the cabin turned his way. Feeling his cheeks heat, hating that this man had made him lose his temper so readily, he’d leaned in to hiss, “Don’t call me that.”

Beorn had hunkered down and issued his own parting shot. “When you have a daughter dandling on your knee, how will you wish your son to treat her? If the same situation ever arose? Think upon that, young naiad. Think very hard upon that.”

Aleks had been left floundering as the big guy stalked away to join Thorin and Balin. Beorn made it sound like Aleks’s crime was the greater. The guy had been all worked up in defense of _her_ – the one who’d caused it all. Where was the indignation for the victim? _Victims,_ Aleks corrected himself bitterly, picturing his parents.

The words rankled. He didn’t know what to think, so here he sat, his mind in chaos. _What if I was wrong?_ Would he hold his daughter – should he ever have one – guilty and wish the treatment he’d dished out upon her for a crime like Daphne’s? 

_All she did was brag about Mom. That’s all._

But she’d known better. Their world was too dangerous for slips like that, yet she’d gone and blabbed about their dryad mother to her friends. 

He put the watch back into his pocket and rubbed his temples, feeling battered and bruised inside. He didn’t know what to think, so maybe it was better not to. _Let it go._ Maybe some day he’d be able to make sense of it all.

But today was not that day.


	19. Say Something

### Chapter 18

With my hands bandaged up like plump sausages, beating the stuffing out of any more targets proved impossible. Legolas found the sight of me hysterical, for at dinner the night before he couldn’t glance my way but that his lips would wriggle beyond his control. Compressing them into a white line muffled the effect, but then he would turn away, his shoulders tight and quivering the tiniest bit. 

The dufus. 

I paced back and forth in my room, an opulent, bright affair that gave the illusion of open space. There was even a balcony – a railing-less balcony – that overlooked an underground garden with trees, flowers, and fragrant herbs. Holes had been bored into the cavern’s ceiling, allowing rays of sunshine to filter in, bathing the cavern with their glow and feeding the plants. 

The effect was different. Beautiful, but somehow ethereal. 

The Elvenking had confined me to the family wing until I healed. Something about not trusting me to care for myself as I should. It irked me to no end, but at the same time, it shamed me. He was right. Thinking I was in Faerie, I’d driven myself into the ground. Knowing I wasn’t, I’d damaged myself physically. Not a great track record. 

The words to the song, _Say Something,_ kept playing through my mind over and over again. Haunting me. Mocking me. My soul fairly resonated with every word. Though the song was about the death of romantic love, one person begging the other to respond in some way, to give them hope, the pain it conveyed matched mine.

How long had I trailed along in Aleks’s shadow, unwanted, waiting for him to forgive me? To care again? I’d loved my brother for so long and so deeply, yet I’d been spurned at every turn. Ridiculed. And now, deceived and betrayed on top of everything else. 

Tears splotched down onto my fingers where the bandages didn’t reach. I’d failed him. Mom and Dad had been all about family. Family stuck together – how often had _Appa_ said that? A hundred times? Two? If there’d been hope, there was nothing I wouldn’t do. He was my twin. I’d thought that bond inviolable. But hope, I was finding, had a limit. It could be stretched and pulled, but it would ultimately break, leaving destruction in its wake. 

My heart was pulverized bits that bled and wept and bled some more. The anger persisted, overshadowing it all, but underneath it, I felt broken. Defeated. My fingers itched for pencil and paper, but with my swaddled hands, that comfort was denied me, too.

Mopping up tears with the back of one bandaged hand, I growled and dragged my tote from where some thoughtful soul had plunked it. It rasped against smooth stone floor as I pulled it in my wake onto the balcony. One solid shove with my foot moved the delicate looking bench from my path. 

I flopped down on my butt, legs dangling over the balcony edge and bare feet peeking from beneath the hem of my skirt. Pulling the tote onto my lap, I fought with the plastic zipper, trying to get a grip on it with my sausage-packaged fingers. 

They put me in mind of that poor kid in _A Christmas Story,_ the one whose mother bundled him up so thoroughly that he couldn’t put his arms down. Me? I couldn’t get the fingers on one hand to touch one another. Fabric roped between each digit, keeping them splayed like frozen jazz hands. 

Really, it was no wonder Legolas found it funny.

I tried to pinch index finger and thumb around the zipper tab, but the stuff that had been slathered upon them earlier left them too numb to be useful. My grip kept slipping. In desperation, I leaned down and unzipped it with my teeth, grumbling under my breath and sniffling as tears continued to escape beyond my control. 

My chest felt so tight I could burst like a dam. Body quivering with silent sobs, I rooted out my mp3 player and managed to shove an earbud into one ear. I queued up the song. I hated what he’d done. Hated what he’d driven me to. But I didn’t want to give up on that dream of us reunited. I had to, but it killed me to consider it, to give up on Aleks altogether.

_I hate you, Aleks._ Shameful words. Who hated their twin? Except Aleks, of course. 

_I miss you, Aleks._ The Aleks who used to exist. The one the current waste of space had killed. Perhaps that was the key I had missed all this time. The Aleks I’d loved was no more. When our _amma_ and _appa_ had died, so had he. 

His body just hadn’t figured it out yet. 

From behind me, an _elleth’s_ voice rose, her tone all-over that of a parent who’d reached her limit. A man’s voice followed, “Prince Amdiron,” hard with warning. 

My door burst open, and I jumped, twisting at the waist with wide eyes. The most adorable toddler of perhaps two years of age raced to me on chubby legs, his arms outstretched and his platinum hair all askew on his head. His braids looked half-done and his shoes were obviously missing as his bare feet slapped across the cool floor to me. 

“Do not cry,” the little one begged in his too-young voice as he threw himself at me. I gasped, arms whipping out to catch him for fear he would catapult himself right over the balcony’s edge. Small hands patted my wet cheeks and bright, grass green eyes stared up at me, his face one of tragedy.

“Amdiron!” 

As the unseen male’s voice echoed down the hallway, the little one’s chin thrust out. He stayed in my grasp. 

“Is that you?” I asked softly.

He played with a lock of my hair as if enthralled with the color. “It is.”

The incongruity of it almost freaked me out. I’d read somewhere that elf children learned to speak, _fluently,_ before their first year was out, but I’d never realized how disconcerting that might be. In my world, a child his age would say, “Uh-huh,” or something in baby babble, not carefully pronounce, “It is,” with such adult-like gravity.

Heavy footsteps stomped into the room, then screeched to a halt. One of the Royal Guards – the elite force charged with the protection of the royal family and their home – stared down at us, his cornflower blue eyes revealing relief and no small amount of frustration. 

“You cannot run off like that, Prince,” the guard said in a firm voice. He knelt beside us in his dark green and gold uniform, a walking armory of a man. Elf. Whatever. Say what one might about his cushy job, this _ellon_ was armed to the teeth, a true elven Rambo. Clearly, he took his job very, very seriously. 

“Prince?” I echoed. 

“Prince Amdiron, son of Crown Prince Gellamon,” the child introduced himself with a minuscule bow. “You should not cry, Lady. You belong to us now.”

His words laid waste to my composure. I turned away, eyes landing on the guard as I tried to reshape my face into a semblance of wellness. Cornflower blue eyes held mine, sympathy growing in their depths. 

An _elleth_ appeared in my doorway, a hand pressed to her heaving, if insubstantial, chest. “Prince Amdiron, what will your _naneth_ say about you running off like that?”

“It is a prince’s duty to see to the wellbeing of his household,” the child prodigy declared. It kind of freaked me out, even as I found the little _ellon_ completely adorable. Turning his head back to me, his half-braid dangling like some cat’s half-dead trophy down his right shoulder, he asked, “What is that?” and pointed at the earbud wire hanging from my ear. 

Was I allowed to talk about my home? Did any of them even know I wasn’t from Arda? My face must have betrayed my concern, because as my eyes sought the guard’s, he informed me, “Your origins are known to the royal family and the Royal Guards. If the king or queen had anything they wished you to keep private, you would have been informed of such by now.” Surprising me, his hand reached out and fingered the earbud wire. “What is this?”

“Prince, you should not interrupt the lady’s privacy,” the _elleth_ tried again, gliding across the floor to us.

“He’s not,” I assured as the boy looked stricken at the idea. “He did not intrude.”

“You were crying,” Amdiron repeated. 

“I was crying,” I affirmed. Changing the subject, I held up the other earbud. “I was listening to music from home.”

The little tyke’s face turned this way and that way as he stared at the bud doubtfully. Like he knew he wasn’t supposed to call a lady a liar, but… 

Fiddling with the mp3 player, I removed the buds, lowered the volume, and hit replay. Green eyes widened with glee, and the child giggled. The guard carefully nudged his prince further from the balcony’s edge. He suddenly frowned down at my mp3 player as if he’d just realized the content of the lyrics. 

When the song finished, before the child could ask me to play it again – it was written all over his face – the _elleth_ intervened. “Your _naneth_ will be worried, Prince. You have cured the lady of her tears. Now we must go.”

I nodded in agreement and smiled at the little one. “Before you go,” I said, reaching back into my bag. I pulled out the stash of chocolate Nancy had packed for me, bypassing the cheap stuff for the organic, decadent fare – who knew how elf constitutions would handle the junk in the cheaper ones. Did I really want to go down as the chick who poisoned an elf with GMO sugar and soy? 

I tried to unwrap them, but my fingers again fumbled for purchase, and the tears started to reappear. 

Longer, pale fingers took them from me. “Here. What do I do with these?” the guard asked. Unlike so many of the _ellyn_ here, he wore his hair with no frills in a single braid down his back. His face was rougher with the series of scars marring the right side of his face, and his jaw had a square edge that set him apart. Where too many elves looked like carbon copies, this one I would recognize if I met him again. 

“There are confections inside,” I said lowly. “The shiny packaging is torn off. I was going to give one to the prince and have him give one to his mother.”

A flicker of a smile. “Prince Gellamon will view them with suspicion.”

I held up a sausaged hand. “Say no more. Choose one. Any of them. I’ll eat it. You can have one, too. That way, you’ll know they are safe.”

A flash of pearly teeth as he smiled again. He handed me a candy of his choosing, a Black & White’s square, which I enjoyed the second it touched my tongue. I was so going to miss chocolate when my supplies ran out. The little square melted in my mouth, rich, smooth, and creamy. 

The _ellon_ must have agreed because his eyes about bugged out, and if that wasn’t a hint of greed shining in those cornflower eyes as they lit upon my remaining stash, I wasn’t a Gemini. Satisfied, he scooped up the two treats for the prince to share with his mother. With a bow, he backed out of the door, closing it behind them. 

I laid back on the balcony floor, legs swinging over the edge, listening to music. The child’s open affection made me miss the kids I read to weekly at the public library. Estel, too. There was something infinitely wonderful about children and their bright curiosity and unveiled emotions. They loved so freely.

Queuing up another playlist, I decided to take heed of a child’s wisdom and stop trying to muffle what I was feeling. As the song _I Know Your Name_ by Michael W. Smith filled my ears, I curled up on my side and wept.

OoOoOo

Thorin rubbed the base of his neck, brow furrowed. Standing in the shadows, his attention refused to budge from the young naiad.

_I’m missing something._

Twice now, the lad had almost gotten himself killed because of his inability to keep his head. A hair-trigger temper, Aleks had labeled it when last he’d broached the topic. Thorin had never heard the term before, and he found it apt. But what alarmed him was that Aleks’s difficulties seemed to be increasing, not decreasing. 

_Yes, I’m missing something._

Why, for example, had Aleks become angrier where his sister was concerned since departing Rivendell? The twins had seemed to reach an accord, but that was not what he read from their satyr now. If anything, Aleks flared with resentment upon any mention of her. Why? Had distance caused his mind to review all he held against her? What would be the purpose of intentionally fanning the flames of hatred?

A burst of frustration. Enough demanded his attention – plans for their safe passage through the cursed Elvenking’s blighted land, plans for Erebor, and plans for his nephews. He did not need this burden, yet he felt helpless but to accept it. Aleks had become his responsibility. He liked the lad and saw much promise in him. 

If only the lad would heed the counsel of his elders. Balin had tried. Dwalin, too. But thus far, Aleks only listened when it was Thorin who warned of his volatile temper and the danger it held. Anyone else, the lad would smile at and nod, but all could see the words traveled in one ear and out the other. 

_Mahal._ He was tempted to leave the bitter young man with Beorn until Erebor was settled. He wouldn’t, but the temptation persisted. Beorn had revealed to Thorin alone after the others had retired the nature of the rift between the twins. Two hurting children, deprived of their parents. No guiding hand to direct their grief or mend the anger.

_So much damage._ Knowing Aleks as he was beginning to, he could visualize the events as they must have played out. Aleks in pain, the young lad furious at the loss of family, home, and any sense of safety. All that fury needed an outlet, and in his youth, it had funneled in one direction: the sister who had inadvertently set the course of events into motion. 

Thorin thumped a fist against the wooden post beside him, one of many supporting the awning above Beorn’s porch. The travesty of it all. Children needed caring and a sight more than food and a roof over their heads. Where was this “Marcus” Aleks had mentioned as the loss turned twin against twin? What was wrong with the people of their world that it was allowed to happen?

Daphne had informed Beorn that Aleks trusted no one, yet Thorin knew it not to be completely true. Aleks trusted him and to a lesser degree the rest of the Company. How or why the lad had decided to allow Thorin and the dwarves inside the prickly barrier keeping others at bay, Thorin didn’t know. It did not much matter. Hearing Daphne’s assessment confirmed in his own mind what he’d suspected all along – Aleks trusted few, and if Thorin breached that bond, Aleks might be irredeemably lost. He might never allow another soul into his confidence. 

So, the lad would remain with them. And Thorin would continue to try to talk some sense into him.

A gray-haired, stocky silhouette appeared at Thorin’s shoulder. “He will not listen.”

Thorin twisted partially around to share a frustrated look with his friend. “Anything?” 

“Not a word. None of them witnessed anything that would explain Aleks’s renewed animosity. Fíli tells me our naiad seemed very distraught to be leaving his sister behind.” 

“What does your wisdom tell you?”

Balin stroked his long straight beard. “He’s not quite ready to let go of his rage,” Balin offered. “He reminds me of a certain dwarf I know. Stubborn as a lad, as stubborn as the day is long.” A teasing glint crinkled his eyes. 

“Dare I ask to whom you are referring?” he asked with an amused drawl. 

“Ye know very well I’m referring to you, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“I would not harbor such hatred for my sister,” he said, his thoughts turning to Dís. Headstrong and equally stubborn, Dís was a true dwarrowdam and descendant of Durin. 

Balin stepped closer until their shoulders brushed. _“Och,_ no, that is not what I’m meaning. But the lad had no one to show him how to become an adult. His anger is familiar to him by now, and so he clings to it.” With a nod of his head, Balin decreed, “Ye’ve been good for him.”

Perhaps. Thorin had his doubts. 

Balin changed the subject. “Kíli seems taken with the lass.”

Thorin’s eyebrow lifted as mild surprise touched him. “I was unaware of this development.”

Balin waved a hand in dismissal. “Youthful fancy, I’m sure. He’s young, is Kíli.”

“Too young.”

“Aye.” Balin grinned. “As we all were once.” Then more seriously, “Would you mind?”

Hitching his thumbs in his belt, Thorin mulled it over. “Aleks is one of us,” he said at last. “As is his sister.”

“Ye sound more certain.”

“Aye.” He cocked his head to the side. “I have the full of the tale from our host. The girl made a mistake, nothing more. No, I would not harbor ill feelings should she find a mate among us, not even should it be kin of mine. But Kíli is too young. He does not yet know himself or what it is he seeks in life.”

“He may have competition.”

What? Two of them? “Who?” he demanded, taken aback.

Balin grinned. “I’ll be letting you figure that one out for yourself.”

“Not Fíli, surely.”

“Nay, lad. But this I will say. We are in for some interesting times when we send for the lass.”

That was a gross understatement. With Aleks’s virulence returned and now two of his party interested? Thorin’s lips twitched. By Aulë, he’d have to watch what he wished for in the future. Hoping for a way to ease relations between the twins, and two of his dwarves’ eyes were caught by the lass? The Valar truly did have a strange sense of humor. Rubbing his jaw with a silent snort, he departed for the stables.


	20. Unburdening

### Chapter 19

_This,_ I decided, _is paradise._

The very air I breathed tasted of contentment. As I sat within the safe arms of an old, healed oak, my recharged mp3 player clipped to the belt at my waist and the awesome sounds of Karl Jenkin’s _Adiemus_ lifting my already high spirits into the heavens, I couldn’t imagine a better ending to a good day. 

The rustling of leaves was my only warning before Thranduil appeared upon my swaying branch.

“Thran- Sire!” I squawked, grabbing hold of the tree’s bole with one hand and the branch beneath me with the other. 

_“Penneth,”_ he greeted, walking along the branch as if it were his throne room floor. Never mind the fact that we were a couple stories up from the ground. When he’d gained my side, he lightly seated himself as if settling in for a long spell. His ice blue eyes slid sideways towards me. “You have been with us for over two weeks now, eating at my table, and working beside me to cleanse these woods. I have told you what to call me.”

Yes, the equivalent of foster father. As if I had any business claiming such a lofty relationship with him. Beneath his reproachful regard, I sighed and capitulated. _“Gwathadar.”_

The Elvenking looked upon the forest around us, oozing satisfaction. He claimed one earbud from me and held it near his shoulder, the volume I needed too much for his sensitive ears. A slight smile curled his lips. “My Rinel will like this, I vow. What language do they sing?” he inquired. He and his family had taken a keen interest in the things of my world, up to and including delving into my music collection. Some of it, anyway. I’d learned what to filter out to spare their ears early on. 

“Believe it or not, it isn’t a real language. The artist developed the sounds to go with the music,” I told him with a grin. 

He shot me a short, disbelieving look. I think Thranduil was almost convinced the people back home were loony tunes. Maybe he was right. Even with giant spiders and diseased trees just beyond the living wall surrounding the Elvenking’s Halls, this place was just _nicer._

My eyelids dropped closed, and I drew fresh air into my lungs. It felt so good to be at peace. For days after my breakdown, I’d been unable to stop crying. Everything set me off. The Elvenking had been kind, but it had been his son, Caranoran, who had made the difference. The prince had often sought me out, sitting quietly by my side, giving me room while being present as I worked through my turmoil. The scritch of his quill on parchment had been an almost constant backdrop.

Caranoran was super busy. I hadn’t known just how much so until later, hadn’t understood how precious the gift of time he’d bestowed upon me truly was. Now, I knew. Caranoran’s duties to his father kept him running from sun up to sun down, yet he’d taken the time to be there. That kindness had done more to smooth out the rough edges of my torn heart than anything. 

I gazed at the emerald energy of the grove around us. We’d worked long, hard hours, Thranduil and I, driving back the shadow here. It was taxing work, and the task of cleansing Mirkwood seemed monumental. Two weeks, and we’d cleared just this acre. 

But, ah, what an acre it now looked to be. Golden light filtered down through healthy canopies. The ground was soft, the soil loamy and fertile. Branches creaked in the light breeze and leaves rustled. The trees and plants here were happy. Contented. Best of all, they’d also proved to be immune to re-infection. 

Beyond this grove’s healthy greens, diseased yellows stretched out as far as the eye could see. Mirkwood was simply huge. _Maybe that’s why it was once called Greenwood the Great, dope._

Against my will, my gaze turned northward. By now, the dwarves had to be inside Thranduil’s domain. Close. I’d not spoken a word to my _gwathadar_ about them or the future I knew was unfolding, but thoughts of them buzzed around in the back of my head constantly, bringing with them renewed anger and paralyzing fear. 

I wasn’t ready to face him. I wasn’t ready to face them, the two who had collectively chucked me off a cliff, hearing my screams and laughing all the while.

Thorin as I’d last seen him rose before my mind’s eye. His destined fate gnawed at me. I owed him better than to let him march off to his death. Surely I could tinker with just that one small plot bunny and not unravel the whole of it. Right? I mean, Thorin’s death or survival had little bearing on the Ring once Bilbo obtained it. 

I’m ashamed to admit that a small, vengeful voice often piped up to whisper how Aleks would be repaid if I let the line of Durin end. That Aleks deserved to lose them, the three people he loved most in the world, all in one fell swoop. 

It scared my socks off. How messed up was it that such a thought would ever occur to me? Even if I didn’t entertain it and hated the thought, how horrible a person was I that it had even occurred to me? 

This thing with Aleks was seriously messing me up. I’d once heard someone say that unforgiveness was like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Idiot me, I kept drinking the vile brew anyway. How was I supposed to forgive what he’d done? How did I let it go?

_Why do I still care about him?_ I wailed in my innermost being. Was it habit? Is that what made me vacillate between hatred and grief? I’d thought any love burned out, but as time had passed, it popped up again like a noxious weed. The war between different factions of myself raged like a savage, internal world war. I didn’t know how to begin to resolve it, so I focused on the one thing I could do something about - namely, saving Thorin.

How to save him, now, that was the question. I nibbled on my thumbnail. Thranduil would not leave me in a dwarf’s care unprotected, and Thorin hated Thranduil’s guts. Actually, Thorin might see my very presence here as a betrayal, I realized with a sinking sensation. My gnawing halted as that sank in. 

What was I going to do? 

“Hwinneth, I feel your pain.”

Hwinneth. That, too, would not make Thorin or his dwarves happy. I’d been given an elvish name by Caranoran. It basically meant giddy twirling. Picture one happy dryad in a healthy, vibrant garden, throw in copious amounts of chocolate, and _The Wind in the Willows_ by Blackmore’s Night, and there you had it. I’d danced and twirled around like a little girl with my eyes closed – right until I’d cannonballed into the youngest of Thranduil’s offspring. 

‘Nuff said.

“Speak with me, _fileg.”_

_Little bird,_ I translated with a weak smile. I didn’t much feel like singing anymore. My dark thoughts had killed the mood. 

“I hate him,” I said, unable to speak the words loudly for shame. “Since our parents were murdered, all I’ve wanted was to be reunited with him, for things to be fixed. Yet I _hate_ him.”

Thranduil allowed me a measure of privacy, looking off into the distance as I again played the leaky faucet. “Hatred is not all you feel,” he broached.

No, it wasn’t. “I don’t understand it,” I burst out. “How can I still care about him after what he did? Yet I do. I’m so _stupid._ What is wrong with me that I can’t stop _trying?”_

The Elvenking’s hand cupped my cheek, and I leaned into it, fighting back tears. I didn’t want to cry anymore. I was tired of grieving, of hurting so much. If there was one thing both parts of me agreed upon it was this: Aleks wasn’t worth all this. 

Connected to the tree as we were, I knew he felt every nuance of my conflicted, ragged emotions even as I picked up on his concern and affection – and the deep anger growing within the Elvenking for the wounds I’d been dealt. Really, if Aleks was still with the dwarves, I wouldn’t want to be him when they met the Elvenking. No way, no how. 

“I don’t want this,” I managed to say, one hand helplessly making a gesture to encompass the whole angst enchilada I couldn’t seem to rid myself of. 

“No,” he agreed. “I know you do not. I do not wish it for you. I cannot instruct you as to what you should do, for I would not counsel from an unbiased standpoint. I wish you to know joy, _penneth._ You have found happiness with us, I believe.”

“I have,” I told him.

A small, empathetic smile. “I understand how very binding are the ties of blood.”

There was the crux of it. I’d be letting my parents down to exorcise Aleks from my life, yet I felt unable to continue as I had. 

Silence stretched out. 

“Something else has been on your mind as well, Hwinneth,” Thranduil said out of the blue. “I have sensed a growing worry.” 

True enough. With his shoulder brushing mine, I stared outward, my brow furrowed.

Thranduil could out-wait a rock, I decided as he sat there, legs dangling off the bough like a youth. He was not really what I’d expected, that was for sure. The fearsome Elvenking, yes, he was that. I’d seen him scare the snot out of nobles daring to question him a couple times with just a look. But he loved his family, cared for his people. He had a dry sense of humor and often teased his sons and wife.

“Sire.” 

The silence turned sharp though he did not face me. 

_“Gwathadar,”_ I corrected. Why fight? He’d win. “I worry for my brother’s companions.” I was not yet ready to admit to any worry where Aleks was concerned. It was fickle at best, derailed by gleeful images of him perhaps breaking a leg or tumbling down a cliff or something. The dwarves, too, I now had issues with. Innocent or not, they were linked with Aleks in my mind. Tainted. I hated to admit it even to myself, for I dearly missed Bombur’s round face and Bofur’s teasing grin. But what Aleks had done had soiled so much. It didn’t stop me from worrying about them, but it did tarnish their memory. 

“The dwarves,” Thranduil said with the faintest disdain.

I hardened myself against it, expecting it. “Yes.”

“After what they did to you?” he asked lightly.

I exhaled in a rush, my cheeks puffing out. “I believe Aleks conned them into it. Deceived them,” I clarified at his lifted brow. “I don’t think they were all involved, nor do I think Fíli and Kíli had any idea what Aleks was doing.”

“You think,” he repeated without emphasis. 

Thranduil let silence stretch between us again. I repacked my mp3 player and the solar charger as a mockingbird trilled through a whole slew of calls. The trees themselves sang for the joy of wholeness, and I allowed their bliss to touch me, immersing myself in their happiness once more. 

“I would hope you could trust me,” he said at long last.

“I do!” I almost gave myself whiplash, I turned to him so fast. “Above all others.”

“Even my youngest son?” he asked with a ghost of a smile, his gaze still off in the distance.

The gloom that had claimed me was dispelled by a short laugh, a _real_ laugh. “I had no idea elves knew how to short-sheet a bed.”

Thranduil’s attention zoomed back to me, his eyes incredulous. “Pardon?”

I shrugged with a lopsided grin. “He short-sheeted my bed.” My smile adopted a wicked edge. “Not to worry, I got him back.”

“Dare I ask?” the Elvenking said as one long-suffering, laughter in his blue eyes. 

“He went to itch his nose the next night and found himself with a face full of whipped cream.”

Thranduil’s lip curled up on one side. “Has he yet retaliated?”

Retaliated? “It’s over,” I said. “Tit for tat.” 

The look I got told me to rethink that conclusion. _“Penneth,_ I have known my son for many centuries. I would advise you to lock your door when you sleep. I doubt very much that you have seen the last of his pranks.”

I carefully filed that away, rather eager to see what Caranoran would come up with. Aleks and I had never indulged in a war of practical jokes. This, I would enjoy.

Another short stretch of quiet companionship. I should have known Thranduil wouldn’t let the matter drop. 

The Elvenking turned to face me, his expression kind. “You trust me. Please tell me the truth, _penneth._ I have taken you into my household. That is no light thing, not for an elf.” Softer, “Do you know why we avoid attachments with mortals?” he asked.

The sobriety I read in his eyes told me he was deadly serious. I licked my upper lip. “I imagine it is because we die on you.”

A slow incline of the head. “Our grief will span centuries, much longer than the life of the mortal we grieve. To welcome a mortal into our affections as I have you is a promise of pain to come.” Before I could even begin to decide how to respond, he cupped my cheek again. “I would have missed knowing you, Hwinneth,” he said more gently. “You do belong with us. Your spirit is so like ours.” 

I’d never felt so humbled. So important to someone. Once more, tears prickled my eyes, but this time, they were good tears. I didn’t fight them.

“I know you keep something from me.”

I hung my head. He felt my emotions through the connection to the tree we perched upon. There was no fooling him. 

“There is,” I said at last, quickly asking the trees to assure our privacy. No one else could hear this. No one. “I don’t think I should tell anyone.” Lifting my head to meet his pale eyes, I said, “But I also need to. I need your counsel. I don’t know what to do. This…this stuff I know, it could hurt people. Change their fates. I have no right to let that happen.” 

Yet I couldn’t not where Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were concerned. _Bah,_ but I felt torn by conflicting needs. Save them, save Middle Earth. Were they mutually exclusive? Or did I change nothing and let Middle Earth’s future unfold properly so that Sauron would be destroyed?

I cannot bear more blood on my hands. 

_There is no blood upon your hands, Hwenneth,_ the Elvenking’s golden voice chimed in. He hadn't heard all of my musings, but that last I’d accidentally cried out. 

A slender finger tilted my head his way, reestablishing eye contact. His gaze seared into mine, his spine inching upward until it was poker-straight. “You speak of the future,” he said softly. I didn’t answer and didn’t need to. He could feel my assent through the tree-bond. “How?” he demanded. “I will not ask for details, not yet. How do you know the future, Hwinneth?”

The tip of my tongue touched my lower lip. “Books,” I said. Then in a rush, “The books I told you about from my world. They cover events in Middle Earth spanning from the Time of Trees all the way to the beginning of the Fourth Age. They describe major events.”

His lips pursed. “Future events may be naught but speculation. The past, recorded history.”

True, except… “One of the major stories takes place now. Is taking place now. So far, it’s happening exactly like the stories say except for Aleks’s and my inclusion.”

Thranduil the Elvenking had replaced the foster father. He stared out upon his forests. “My family?” he asked.

I swiveled, straddling the tree branch and leaning back against the trunk. Like all his people, I wore breeches and tunic when not within the Halls. His profile was severe, awaiting a blow. “Nothing is written about harm to any specific family member.” With a sigh, I too directed my gaze out upon the sea of trees, taking comfort from the green surrounding me. “Legolas is famous within the tales for what he will do.” I offered him a smile. “He’ll help save all of Arda. He’ll be part of the fellowship that--” 

He held up a hand. “I will not risk more,” he said. “It is dangerous enough that I carry this knowledge. Understand, _penneth,_ that there are forces in Middle Earth that would stop at nothing to wrench this information from you. And one of them tries its wiles upon me daily.”

“The Dark Lord,” I whispered.

His head whipped around, his face like steel. “He returns,” he said, his tone only half guessing. “I must know. He returns?”

I capitulated. “He already has.”

“The plague? The one whispering thoughts to me, it is him, is it not?”

I nodded. “He created the sickness, I think. Soon, very soon, the White Council will evict a necromancer from Dol Guldur.” An apologetic look. “Him.” He seemed frozen to the spot. “He won’t make his move for decades yet, not unless something disturbs the time-line.”

“Greenwood the Great will be attacked.”

“Yes. As will Lothlorien and a number of other kingdoms. Rivendell. Erebor.” I winced as that slipped out, noting the way his keen mind latched onto that fact. I hurried on. “If nothing changes, you will be successful in defending your people. You will see the end of these evil times.” Corny, but I could think of no other way to state it.

“If nothing changes,” he repeated. The Elvenking thought upon my words as we sat there for a time longer before giving me his command. “You will not reveal more to me. Should the enemy ever gain ascendancy over me, he will learn nothing but that you exist and you hold such knowledge. Your charge is this, Hwinneth of the Greenwood. Should any danger arise that makes revealing more a necessity, you are to confer with the captain of my Royal Guard, Badhron, and Weaponsmaster Halon. You have met both, I believe?” 

He waited for my silent nod. 

“Nothing is to be said to my queen or heirs, do you understand? I will not have the Dark Lord fixing his gaze upon them.”

“Yes, sire.”

“I will leave orders with both. Should action need to be taken, they will assist you in any way you require of them. You will not abuse this trust.”

I lowered any defenses I had, baring myself to the Elvenking completely through the wood-bond. His golden light fell upon me. _I will never act to harm you or my new family,_ I swore to him. _You think the time-line will change?_ I ventured.

_It already has, penneth. I should not have confirmation of the Dark Lord’s return. Suspicions, yes, but nothing more. Now I do, and it will color my actions. Should I manage to discount this knowledge, I yet fear your time-line doomed._

_Why? I’m being careful to--_ My words slammed into a wall.

_Aleks is not,_ he said gently. _Does he have this knowledge?_

_No. He hated - hates - everything that interests me. He never read the books, and I don’t think he ever saw the movies._

The Elvenking did not pursue any clarification of the term “movies”. He nodded his head slowly, thoughtfully.

I broached a new topic. _This issue with the dwarves… Gwathadar, I am afraid._

_Afraid of what, penneth?_

_I like Thorin. And I’m afraid you hate him._

OoOoOo

Hunger cramped Aleks’s belly. Not a single healthy animal signature was within range of his sight, nor had there been since they’d set foot in this forsaken forest. The cursed creatures that did inhabit these lands were twisted, their speech laced with hatred and death.

Mirkwood, Thorin and Beorn had labeled it. A fitting name. Why no one had razed it to the ground, he couldn’t fathom, but he promised himself he’d explore the possibility of doing so one day soon. 

Bilbo trudged before him, the hobbit only a dark shadow to human sight and a dull white with a honey glow to his satyr’s vision. Day and night melted into a seamless whole here, any sun or moonlight blocked out by the putrid, misshapen trees. Gloomy and sinister didn’t quite encapsulate it. 

Aleks glanced behind him to the knotted mass of dwarves carting the unconscious Bombur with difficulty. 

“Aye, smile away, Brother,” Bofur grunted with difficulty from somewhere within the tangle. “You get sweet dreams o’ Mib while the rest of us lug your overgrown carcass about.” Exasperation and fondness turned what could have been cutting words into something softer. 

Aleks’s lips twitched. He loved watching the dwarves interact with each other, loved the way they treated him with the same affection. 

They camped each night, or day, upon the crumbling road they’d dutifully followed since day one. _Don’t leave the road,_ both Beorn and Gandalf had warned before they’d parted ways. Aleks suspected he could have led the Company by swifter routes, but Thorin refused to be budged. 

“Gandalf would not lead us astray,” the king had replied more than once. 

At first, the Company had remained optimistic, hearty even in the face of this unremitting night. Given their love of caves, it made sense that the dark would not bother them as much. But then, their stores began to dwindle. Hunger rumbled through many a belly and tempers flared, Aleks’s worst of all, he knew. He’d shouted at Bofur when the toymaker had tried to lift everyone’s spirits. As if to compound things, he’d then snapped at Kíli and Fíli when they’d tried to mend the rift that Aleks had created. 

_Fool._ He was unused to having this…this…belonging, and he was mucking it all up. He knew he needed to apologize, but he didn’t know how, and his pride refused to allow it. To apologize was to assume a weak position, something he could not do. With the words that would have mended all locked up in his throat, he pretended nothing had happened and treated them as he ever had, hoping they would let it go. 

He fiddled with the bow Beorn had provided. Though no match to what Thorin had obtained for him in Rivendell, he yet had Thorin’s promise that at the end of their journey, there would be a solid, _dwarvish_ bow waiting for him. The king’s promise. 

_Maybe I should slip off and find us food._ Make himself useful. An apology of sorts. “Don’t leave the path,” he grumbled under his breath. Fat good staying on the path did them. 

“I wouldn’t be ignoring that bit of advice, my lad,” Balin said as he fell in next to him. 

Aleks bristled and scowled down at the older dwarf. 

“Nor would I be doing that,” Balin added. “You’re touchier than a chicken in a lion’s den, and that takes some doing, mind.”

Angry words sprang to his tongue, but the serious if kindly look in Balin’s eyes halted them. Aleks rotated his shoulders and shook his head. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

“Ye have nothing to be apologizing to _me_ for,” Balin said as they hunched over to pass beneath a drooping bough. 

None of them cared to touch the vegetation here any more than strictly necessary. Part of that stemmed from a violent rash that had spread across Nori’s upper body for a week solid following the touch of one curious finger across a fuzzy frond they’d encountered. But part was just the ick-factor. The stuff here was sick. No one wanted a part of it. 

“Thorin’s worried about you, lad,” Balin continued as if that slight break had not occurred. When Aleks’s gaze shot sideways towards him, the dwarf didn’t glance his way but faced straight ahead. “Now, see, I’ve walked these lands a mite longer than the others in this Company save for Dori and Oin. I knew Thror, and I was councilor to Thrain before he went and vanished. Thorin doesn’t find my counsel too distasteful, either,” he added with a small smile. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance, Master Hunt? Ye have my ear, and I’ve no complaints thus far.”

At the offer, so many emotions surged through Aleks that he didn’t know where to start. Or even _if_ to start. His regret for lashing out at Bofur, and then Kíli and Fíli. His deep fear of losing this new family by messing everything up – they’d accepted him, but what if he did something stupid?

_What if the dwarves find out what I’ve already done?_ Panic claimed him. They’d never forgive it…would they? Something so backhanded?

_Should they?_ a bitter part of him asked mockingly. 

The mountain of shame and guilt he carried refused to be dispelled – using Kíli and Fíli to drive the chit off, using her phobia as the impetus, knowing deep inside just how she’d take it. _Call a spade a spade,_ he told himself, refusing to dodge the issue anymore. _I made her believe a lie so she’d never trust anyone again. So she’d break off with the Company, believing them monsters playing with her._

He’d known of her terror of Faerie. How not? He was the one who’d first introduced her to the stories about it. For weeks after, she’d had nightmares, her imagination too zealous for her to cope with such knowledge, especially at the age of six. Every naiad feared Faerie, but with Daphne, it was something deeper and darker. 

Staring off into the woods, he confessed the truth: he’d used that weakness to destroy her. In all likelihood, he’d succeeded. 

“I don’t like what I’m becoming,” he found himself saying around a lump in his throat. His chest burned as he made the admission, and his hands clamped around the bow tight enough he feared he’d snap it in two. He shoved it over one shoulder and out of harm’s way. 

Balin made a noncommittal sound. “Life, young Aleks, brings out the worst in us all. There are some moments we wish undone, aye, but laddie, there will also be many that you can look back upon with pride.”

Aleks snorted in derision.

“Oh, ye think not? Well, then, let me remind you of a few things. Who was it who confronted those trolls and risked his own sweet neck for a bunch of scruffy dwarves? Who looked after our burglar during the thunder-battle?”

A short bark of laughter burst from him, one Aleks was surprised to find held some true amusement in it. “Who dragged Bilbo off the ledge?”

Balin waved that aside with one big hand. “My point is, lad, that ye keep waiting on us to abandon you. It will not happen.”

Why did everything have to hurt so much? Without warning, Aleks pivoted on one heel and slammed his fist into a rocky outcropping beside the path. A low, wrenched cry escaped him, and he dropped to his knees. 

“Leave us,” he heard Thorin say as a firm hand rested upon the base of his neck. Voices in the background, witnessing his weakness. Why did there have to be witnesses? Why couldn’t he just stay strong?

The dwarf king hunkered down beside him for a long minute before he turned to sit, his fur coat loosened around his throat and his back to the rock slab Aleks had attacked. With one knee cocked, Thorin draped one arm across it. The king’s stare rested upon him, not burning, not angry, but heavy all the same. 

_I’m so tired._ He could not bear this load any longer. All the hatred, all the anger. Thorin had warned him days ago, said he knew how such anger worked. Justified or not, it came with a price tag. It was at that moment he’d suspected that Thorin knew the truth of it. Perhaps Daphne had told him of their past. Or Beorn. 

Aleks slumped beside him, their shoulders touching. “Who is it?” Aleks asked in a soft voice. “The person you hate, who is it?”

Thorin drew his pipe from an inner pocket and set about preparing it. “When Smaug came, the elves arrived. My people were injured. Scattered. We had no provisions save the clothes upon our backs.” He lit the pipe and took a puff, exhaling slowly. “Our _allies_ betrayed us,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I begged him, their king, to help us. Without a word, he signaled his forces and left. Not a single sack of food or medicine was given us that day.”

Aleks felt outrage, too, hearing the tale. “Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Thorin said. “Cowardice. Greed. Thranduil the Elvenking had a taste for white gems found within Erebor. This I know from my father. We refused to pay him homage and refused his demands for the gems.”

No wonder Thorin hated elves. 

“These are his lands,” Thorin added.

Aleks looked around with distaste. “Why would any sane person wish to live in this forsaken place?”

A wintry smile. “It was not always like this. I remember tales of Greenwood the Great, also called the Greatwood. These lands were once fertile and filled with game. Now they are as corrupt as their king.” Thorin puffed on the pipe, exhaling a stream of smoke into the air. “But this is not what you wish to speak with me about.”

Aleks examined a grotesque, bent sapling nearby. “I don’t know where to start.”

A warmer smile. “The beginning, Aleks. That is always a good place to start. Tell me of your parents. You never speak of them.”

Aleks’s breath hissed out in a rush. “My parents.” He drew the bow into his lap and fingered the smooth wood of its spine. _“Appa_ \- my father - was a hero. I mean, every kid likes to think that, don’t they? But my father… He was larger than life. He had darker hair, and this big lumberjack beard. When he laughed, it was a deep, rumbling sound.”

Thorin’s teeth flashed in a short grin. “Perhaps he had a dwarf or two in his ancestry.”

Aleks laughed. “Yeah, maybe so.” He added a bit awkwardly, “Not to sound all weird, but you guys remind me of him.”

“Thank you, Aleks. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Somber words, not a trite, patronizing statement.

Aleks scratched at an itch on his arm, grimacing to detect another insect bite. This place was miserable with them. “I wanted to be like him. _Amma,”_ a gusty exhale, “she was the quintessential dryad. They love to cook, all of them. And garden. They can talk to the plants like I can the animals, and the plants talk back. She was gentleness personified.” Aleks grinned nervously. “Not like dwarf women, I don’t think.”

Thorin smiled. “Don’t judge our women solely based upon the stories you hear from Gloin.”

“Dís sounds formidable, too.”

The dwarf snorted. “That she is, Master Hunt. That she is. My sister could rule if she wished, and likely a sight better than I.”

“I doubt that.”

Thorin paused and looked his way. “I am honored. You have been loyal from the start. It will not be forgotten.”

Aleks winced and looked away. _If only you knew._

“Continue with your tale.”

“My sis--” He took a drink from his water canteen. “She bragged,” he admitted at long last. “To the little girl down the street. It was a child’s mistake.” It gutted him to admit it. “What she didn’t know was that the little girl had parents who belonged to Humans First. That night, while my sister was out like she often was with the trees, masked men broke into our house. _Appa_ tried. He fought them hoof and horn, but there were too many. A mob of them. _Amma_ made me hide in the crawl space above their room. I saw it all. The blood. What they did to my _mother.”_

Thorin’s arm came around him, his hand tight around Alek’s far shoulder as Aleks struggled to suppress tears. 

“I was afraid. I hid and…” A difficult swallow. “I heard them. Those _men._ Said how they learned my parents were _monsters.”_ He swiped moisture from his eye, angry. “My own sister.” He waited. Waited for Thorin’s disavowal of his actions, but it never came. “I blamed her.” 

Understatement. His head plunked back against the stone wall behind them. She’d been ten. He’d been ten. Neither able to cope with what had happened. “She’ll hate me,” he whispered, his thoughts turning to what he’d done.

“No, Master Hunt, I don’t believe that to be true.”

He steeled himself. “Yeah, she will. You don’t know what I’ve done, Thorin.” The king’s silence bore the shape of a question mark. _Tell him. He’s going to find out anyway._ Better Thorin hear this from him now than find out when his dwarves sent for Daphne. “I betrayed Kíli and Fíli’s trust,” he whispered hoarsely. 

That got Thorin’s attention. His king stiffened where he sat. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice noncommittal. 

“I’m so sorry.” Aleks couldn’t even look at him, his sight wavering as tears pooled into his eyes. 

A long silence. “Aleks, I cannot advise or assist you if you do not tell me what you have done.” An edge of anger and censure.

Aleks dropped his head into one palm, shutting the world out, and hunched forward. “I used them to trick her. Told them it was a joke.” Each word felt yanked from him, his lips numb, not wanting to form the syllables. “Orc’s Tongue, Kíli called it. We used it to alter our voices and put stones in our boots to change our gait.” A shuddering breath. “Then I hunted her down using my gifts. We pretended not to know she was there.” He rocked back and forward into his hand. “W-we danced around, saying what good work we’d done, convincing her that she was in Middle Earth. And she bought it. Her _face--”_ His voice broke, and he folded his arms over his head, rocking. Sobs ripped through his chest, painful, gut-wrenching and filled with despair.

They’d never respect him now. Not after what he’d done. He’d betrayed their trust, _used_ them. His _friends._ He remembered how Fíli and Kíli had cornered him later that night, demanding to know what she’d done when he’d confessed the truth. He’d lied. Outright looked them in the eyes and lied. Worse, Fíli had clapped him on the back and told him how badly he’d felt about it in hindsight, that he was relieved she’d taken the prank so well. 

All lies. 

Shock splashed over him when arms drew him close and held him tight. 

“Alright,” Thorin said, his voice firm and angry yet gentle for all that. “It’s done. There is nothing we can do now to fix the damage you have inflicted upon your sister. But hear me, Aleks, this is not over. You will inform my nephews and the rest of the Company about your actions.”

“But…” He jerked upright, heart constricting with horrified disbelief.

“This you _will_ do,” Thorin reiterated, his face all hard lines. “They will need to know. Your actions, Aleks, may reflect upon us. Right now, your sister is either trapped in a world in which she cannot trust anyone, or she has discovered the truth. We can hope Lord Elrond is the healer he is professed to be and has convinced her from your lie. After such a deception, she may well suspect us all behind your trickery.”

A cold chill brushed against his innards. He’d never considered that. “I-I’ll tell them,” he said numbly. 

“Good.” Thorin stood, stamping one boot upon the embers from his pipe to extinguish them. 

“What are you doing to do?” 

“Do?” Thorin eyed him with evident surprise, which soon turned to compassion. “Aleks, you are a member of this Company. _One of us._ That does not mean only so long as you behave as we wish. I have promised you a place in Erebor. You are _ours,_ Aleks. Make no mistake, I am disappointed and angry with you, very angry, but that does not mean you are disowned. I know not how your people function, but dwarves are made of sterner stuff than that. But be forewarned. From here on out, I will be treating you with a firmer hand. No longer will you be left to your own devices. I will correct you when you are wrong. I will not drive you away, but should you again engage in so dishonorable a manner, you may well wish I had.” 

Thorin’s head jerked towards the Company, a clear order. “It is time to rejoin the others.”

As much as he dreaded the conversation to come, Aleks felt much lighter. _Cleaner._ Firming his chin, he followed his king to the camp the others had set up in their absence.


	21. Return of the Ice Princess...or not

### Chapter 20

Time passed, as it will whether we wish it or not. 

Oh, there was joy. Caranoran and I continued to match wits in a battle of practical jokes. He dosed my herbal shampoo, turning my hair a brilliant blue that refused to fade for days, and I reinvented the whoopee cushion complete with noxious powder. (For the record, the timing had been exquisite. Insert image of me buffing my nails here.) 

I enjoyed many a quiet evening in the library with the royal family discussing everything from why Gondolin fell to theology and ethics. Here, I discovered that not only could I disagree, but I was encouraged to do so. 

I was changing. Secure for the first time in almost a decade, that mask of mine finally disappeared for good. I wasn’t even aware of its absence until Caranoran pointed it out. And even better, my hair was finally able to grow now that I was not perpetually gnawing at it in fear or worry. 

But alongside the joy and peace was a growing dread. 

I took to watching the gates into the Elvenking’s Halls. Compulsively. Obsessively. When would the Company arrive? An internal clock ticked loudly in my mind, each tock a pronunciation of doom. Knowing the hatred between Thranduil and Thorin, my stomach twisted itself into knots. I couldn’t stand by and watch Thranduil cage the dwarves, but I couldn’t bear to cross my king and foster father, either. 

My mind turned to Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur. During my stay in Rivendell, I’d tried so hard to remain somewhat detached from the dwarves for fear I’d betray what I knew, but those three? Stubborn. Like to the nth degree, stubborn. Time and again, they sought me out and dragged me, willy-nilly, from my isolation. That last night in Rivendell’s kitchens often came to mind. We’d laughed for hours. By the end, I’d been covered in flour, Bombur had been sporting nice fruit splotches all over his tunic, and Elrond’s kitchen had been a disaster area. 

The mental snapshots, scenes with the dwarves and scenes with the elves, served only to pull me in two directions. _Can I let Gwathadar treat them cruelly?_ What if he refused them food? They were going to be hungry. Thirsty. I couldn’t repay Bombur and his kin with indifference. 

But I could not be disloyal to Thranduil, either. He and his family had come to mean the world to me. _Arg!_ I would navigate this mess. I had to. And by all that was holy, I would figure out a way not to ruin my relationships on either side while doing so. 

I batted a strand of hair from my face and kneeled before the tree I’d just finished healing, scooping muck away from its exposed roots. I’d gained finesse thanks to Thranduil’s tutelage, but healing the plants of Mirkwood still proved no easy task. Sauron had become sensitive to the first touch of my energy. So far, he’d not been able to counter me, but I had this suspicion he hadn’t put his full effort into it. Yet.

Was he studying me? 

_You had to think that, didn’t you?_ I chided myself in lieu of totally freaking out. Like I needed another worry right now. 

“What,” a new voice asked, “are you doing?” 

Swiveling on one knee, I squinted, trying to make out the face of the _ellon_ addressing me. I’d been healing trees next to the Elvenking’s Halls, so sunlight would have made it to my level but for the fact that it hung low on the western horizon and couldn’t penetrate the bulk of Mirkwood between us.

Snuffling at a nose itch, I finally recognized him as the Royal Guard assigned to Prince Amdiron. “Cleaning this up,” I told him, hefting a handful of moldy sludge in demonstration. 

The guard shook his head. “There are others who can do that, lady.”

Blowing a strand of hair from my face, I said in exasperation, _“They_ can’t hear this tree’s voice. I can, so I know how badly it wants this junk gone.”

“Lady,” he said, his voice changing completely. 

That didn’t bode well. I scraped the rest of the foul stuff away from the tree’s bole before answering the summons. I tried to dust off my hands, but I only managed to smear the gunk around more. _Blecht!_

“The dwarves have arrived.”

My head jerked. “Already?” 

“Yes, lady.”

But…but… “I’m not ready,” I half-wailed, half-whined. 

“Regardless. They have arrived. The Elvenqueen requests your presence. Your fondness for these dwarves is known to her. She asks you to act as a calming influence.”

Just that fast, I was out of time. 

I wasn’t ready for any of this. Not Aleks and not the meat grinder of tension sure to permeate the air as Elvenking and King Under the Mountain faced off. Not even to face the dwarves and find out for certain how innocent they’d been in Aleks’s stunt.

“Lady?” the guard assigned to me, Faelon, prodded. 

Little did it matter if I was ready or not. Whistling a farewell to the trees, I straightened my shoulders and set course for the Elvenking’s Halls. 

My mind kept picturing ripples in a pool of water. Small changes in events now could really mess things up down the road. _No pressure or anything._ I fretted every step of the way through this healthy patch of forest towards the gates into the Elvenking’s Halls.

We passed through the massive gates. Amdiron’s guard signaled a dismissal, and the other elves peeled off in different directions, including Faelon. 

“You don’t need to babysit me,” I said as my steps slowed. _Don’t want to do this, don’t want to do this,_ an inner voice sing-songed. 

The lopsided smile that cracked this guard’s stern visage almost tripped me up. An expression. Emotion. I looked up in search of flying pigs. As a rule, Royal Guards made the mask I used to wear look amateurish. They were pros. 

“I’m not going to do anything rash like make a break for it,” I told him.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Make a break for it?”

“You know,” I said, waving a hand. “Run for the hills. Escape.”

He halted, one hand to my arm. “Escape?” He looked horrified.

Open mouth, insert foot. _Sigh._ Rubbing my brow with the back of one hand, I clarified, “I only meant that I’ve been dreading this encounter. I’m not going to try to avoid it.” 

“Ah,” he said. “I understand.”

We walked in silence. I could feel individual muscle groups clamping down around my spine and shoulders. I wanted to believe these jitters would prove worse than the actual events as this day played out, but… Yeah, not believing it. 

“I was bid to inform you that should you don that blank face while in my keeping, I am to do whatever necessary to rid you of it,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Um. What? 

“Better. Cease chewing upon your hair.”

Double what? I removed the strand, mortified. Then, I stamped one foot. Not fair! I hadn’t used either crutch in weeks. _The Aleks Effect,_ I labeled resentfully to myself. 

“You are safe here. There is no need for such devices. Shall we proceed?” He offered one arm, and I latched onto it automatically. The pace he set was a lot faster than that I would’ve chosen. 

In lieu of my hair, I nibbled on my lower lip and cast about for a distraction. What would be, would be. Freaking out now would only make it worse. “What do I call you?”

“My name would be the polite option.”

I shot him a short, hard look. Was he joshing me? Testing the waters, I said, “Politeness is overrated, don’t you think?”

His eyelids dropped, and his lips twitched. “Protocol and courtly manners often are.”

“So will, ‘Hey you!’ suffice?”

A stifled snort. “Ah, but there are so many _you_ s. Such imprecision renders the effort wasted.”

“A good point.” I heaved a sad sigh. “No help for it, I shall have to concede to common courtesies. Very well. Your name, sir elf?”

“Belegon, my lady.” He inclined his head.

“Please,” I rushed, dropping the “lady” act. “I am no lady. Call me Daphne.”

His eyes flared as his head whipped around. “You prefer the name bestowed upon you by men?” he asked in a stilted fashion.

“No!” I hastened to assure. “It’s just- I’m no-” Deep breath. Tried again. “Habit.”

“Very well. Lady Hwinneth,” he said.

_“Hwinneth.”_

_“Lady_ Hwinneth.” The guy was serious! “You are foster daughter to the Elvenking and Elvenqueen. The title is appropriate.”

“But I didn’t earn it,” I pressed with exasperation. “I’m not elf-kind.”

Another of those quick smiles. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I am afraid I might have missed it, otherwise.”

“Goober.”

It slipped out, and he guffawed. “What is _‘goober’?”_

“A goof.”

“Goof?”

I supposed that wasn’t helpful. I waggled my fingers, dismissing it. 

His hand suddenly tightened over mine. We’d reached the side entrance to the throne room. I closed down like an iron chastity belt.

“That,” he stressed with his too-serious look, “I was not exaggerating about. That face will not be tolerated. It is an insult to all of us, especially to your king.”

“Says the man belonging to the Brotherhood of Poker Faces,” I muttered.

“You cannot be a calming influence if you act the frightened mouse at every turn.”

“I’m not frightened,” I objected.

“You have been,” he modified. “Yet all of us--”

“Us?” 

“The Royal Guards,” he answered before continuing. “We’ve all seen the change in you. I tell you as one who cares about the royal family, if you enter that room without expression, the Elvenking will assume you feel threatened by the dwarves. He will react.”

_Groan._ I had no idea how the dwarves would read it, but if I was locked down, at bare minimum they’d point a suspicious finger upon the elves. I took a deep breath. Prepared myself as much as I could. Visualized Aleks there before me, really visualized him. 

_Rage. Pain._ I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the surge of tears the thought of Aleks instantly generated. My heart throbbed, remembering how happy I’d been when I’d believed Aleks wished to mend fences. “I don’t suppose you’d let me go get my staff?” I asked Belegon. 

He slowly shook his head. “I believe that would be counter to the queen’s directives.”

Right. _Calming influence,_ I repeated. How was I going to do that when all I wanted to do was shred his face with my fingernails? 

_Okay, this is it, Daphne._ No more time to debate. I stiffened my spine. _I’ll try to keep the peace,_ I promised myself. 

I wasn’t sure even I believed it.

OoOoOo

Aleks glared at the Elvenking from his position beside Thorin among the tight knot of dwarves. Outrage coursed through him at the way the creature dared to speak to his king. The elves had not even given them a chance to wash or change clothes, so the dwarves looked unkempt, wild, and filthy after weeks of hard travel through the gnarled, thorny and diseased bulk of Mirkwood. Next to the pristine, coiffed elves, he felt every speck of the dirt upon his person, but instead of feeling belittled, he wore every stain with pride. He would not be shamed or cowed by these…these… _girly_ men.

But he resented that the elves had put them in this position to begin with. It was intentional. A backhanded slap across the face, proving just how much they scorned Thorin’s company. 

_Prissy, cowardly…_

Dwalin’s heavy hand clamped down at the nape of his neck and strangled the furious words ready to slip off his tongue before their birth. The bald dwarf didn’t turn his way, but he tightened his grip when Aleks again opened his mouth.

_Fine._ Aleks’s lips flattened, and he folded his arms before his chest. Dwalin’s hold loosened but did not release him. 

_They don’t trust my temper._ Resentment flared, followed by irritated acknowledgment. Thorin and the others hadn’t rejected him or driven him off, but they had told him they’d be riding herd on him until they broke him of his penchant for exercising the wicked edge of his tongue like he did. 

Irritation turned to grudging respect. He relaxed, and Dwalin patted him on the back, hand never drifting too far away. Aleks set his mind to emulating Thorin. The King Under the Mountain stood tall and proud at the front of their group, his bearing more suited to one adorned in the richest of garments. Not one word passed his lips as the Elvenking inspected Orcrist and accused the dwarf of thievery.

The accusation had Aleks seeing red. Thorin’s eyes slit, and a tic appeared at the corner of his mouth. Dwalin’s hand grew heavier.

The Elvenking set Orcrist aside, handing it to a guard close to his throne, before turning back to them. His chilling appraisal touched upon each member of the party in turn. Aleks held his breath when that gaze landed upon Bilbo. Sandwiched in the center of their group, the hobbit was almost invisible, _almost_ being the operative word. A flicker of one brow, and the Elvenking’s perusal moved on. 

Until they reached him. There, those icy blue eyes came to a complete stop. Arctic fire ignited in their depths. Aleks fumbled for a weapon he no longer possessed, the threat there so intense it froze the air in his lungs. Dwalin pressed down upon him through that one hand, a silent order to remain calm and still. 

One resounding footstep planted Thorin between them, but with his shorter stature, the dwarf only partially obscured the Elvenking’s view. Those glacial eyes hardened with the promise of retribution – Aleks had no doubts about _that_ look – before dropping the few inches to Thorin. 

Aleks exhaled shakily, and Dwalin gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. 

What was that all about? The elf behaved as if he’d been mortally offended, yet Aleks had never set eyes upon the guy before. Could it be another satyr had stumbled into Middle Earth in the past? He could think of no other explanation, for if it was his association with Thorin, the rest of the Company should have been receiving the same treatment. 

“I offer you a deal, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror,” the Elvenking continued after a long, dramatic pause. The elf leaned back upon his throne in languid repose. 

How he maintained his sinister air while seated upon a throne formed by a thick, bent tree, Aleks would never understand. The Elvenking simply did. Perhaps it was the impression that all of nature bowed to his will, for surely no tree had ever contorted itself into twists and angles such as this. Leaves and the occasional bloom sprang forth from the ivory wood. They perfectly matched the boughs that made up the Elvenking’s crown. 

_Bloody primadonna._ Aleks wished he could label the entire effect effeminate, but that would be a lie. This king, adorned in flowers and robes, still defied every attempt to peg him as such. 

That, too, ticked Aleks off. He wanted to be free to mock him, yet some indefinable _thing_ prevented him. _Not that I need a reason to scorn him._ He already despised the Elvenking. The creature had no honor. 

“I, too, desire a treasure from within the Lonely Mountain. Jewels. White jewels of pure starlight. Your word that you will deliver them into my keeping, and I will assist in your…quest.”

Thorin was right. Greed. When it came down to it, people had died for this monster’s greed. No, not just people. Dwarves. The elves’ one-time allies. _Traitorous leech._

A gasp from Fíli. Dwalin’s hand clamped down upon Aleks like a vise. _(Getting old, Dwalin,_ Aleks growled to himself.) A wave of muttered exclamations spread through the Company like a wave. Aleks craned his neck to peer around Gloin’s bulk.

And saw her.

His jaw unhinged. What was she _doing here?_ And with an elf escorting her like they were going to the prom or something.

At his side, Thorin inhaled in a quiet hiss, his frame, already tight with fury, coiled still tighter until he fairly vibrated with outrage. Kíli looked to his brother, then his uncle, as if appealing to them to intervene. Bilbo did a double-take, and the motley trio who’d protected Daphne before - Bombur, Bifur, and Bofur - lost their air of mocking jocularity. Bifur muttered in Khuzdul, and Bombur nodded surreptitiously. Disarmed or not, the dwarves suddenly took up a whole lot more space. 

And the elves guarding them noticed.

Daphne walked like a regal queen. A small queen, Aleks corrected himself. She appeared tiny and defenseless striding beside an elf so heavily armed that very little of the elf’s actual body was visible through the clutter. He towered over her, a scarred, pale-blond guard in Thranduil’s livery, his uniform a dark green traced with gold. 

Daphne wore a pair of blue jeans matched with a loose green blouse overlaid with a laced up leather vest. Her sneakers squeaked upon the pale marble floor, and with each step, her faced began to blank like a slate after the brush of an eraser. 

Her escort noted it and frowned down upon her before tweaking her earlobe. She yelped and whirled upon him, cheeks heating and eyes blazing. Aleks swore he heard, “Dufus,” before she resumed her journey down the long hall, this time solo with the elf following behind, a smug smile upon his lips. 

_She’s not looking at us._

Guilt churned in his gut. They could not help her like this, could not even discover how this Elvenking had gotten his hands on her. _Come on, Daph. Look this way. Just turn your head._ He repeated the words, daring to use their twin bond, but she showed no indication that she’d heard. 

A sinking sensation. Had he severed their link? He didn’t believe she could mask her shock if she’d heard or felt his words. 

“Daphne,” Kíli hissed when her progress carried her near them. 

Daphne jumped like a frightened doe. Her head was slow to turn in their direction, her expression stony until her gaze lit upon Kíli. The stone cracked, and she flinched. Then absolute fury lit within her green eyes, her gaze jumping to Aleks and scorching him. If looks could kill, Aleks knew he’d have been six feet under. 

Dwalin’s hand grew heavy upon Aleks’s nape once more. 

Silence. The hostility radiating off of her had everyone’s attention. The Elvenking rose to his feet as she changed trajectory and slowly marched towards Aleks. A couple dwarves glanced at him, Thorin adding a warning frown. _Watch what you say,_ that look read.

“Peace,” Aleks heard the elf escort whisper.

“I know.” Daphne’s clipped words didn’t seem to reassure the elf. Then to herself, a barely audible but ominous, “Later.”

She planted herself before Aleks, her face twisted with fury. Her hand lashed out and slapped him across the face so fast he hadn’t time to react before his cheek was prickling in pain. “Why I ever bothered, I really don’t know,” she spat. 

Aleks started to object, but Dwalin’s hand clamped down tight. _For real?_ They wouldn’t let him respond?

“Years, Aleks, years I wasted trying make amends with you and for what? _What?”_ Her finger whipped out when he opened his mouth. “Don’t. Don’t bother. What you did was despicable,” she hissed. “My sin was in ignorance, you self-righteous jerk. Their blood is on my head, and I have to live with that. But you,” she said with disgust. “I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be so low.”

Dwalin’s hand again deterred any words of defense Aleks would have raised. His own temper flared both in response to that and the lash of her tongue. 

Daphne, it seemed, wasn’t done. “It took me a while, but I finally figured it out. My brother is dead,” she pronounced, and Aleks’s chest tightened. _“You_ killed him,” she bit out, hands fisted at her sides. _“You’re so stupid,”_ she mimicked, and Aleks well recognized his own words coming back to him. _“Who would ever want someone like you?”_ She leaned forward. “I can’t believe I ever bought it.”

This, Aleks thought, was the Ice Princess? She of no emotions? 

Bombur moved. Not a whole lot, but the dwarf put himself part way between them, his face grave.

His twin paid him no attention, but when an elf took umbrage and moved towards the dwarf, she turned on him like a spitting cat. “Don’t you _dare_ lift a finger to him,” she snarled, her finger changing targets. “Or so help me, I will pummel you into the ground.”

Um… _what?_ Aleks wasn’t the only shocked spectator. Her target’s face darkened, and behind him, the one who’d been escorting his twin dropped a hand to the hilt of one of his weapons. 

“I would do as she says,” a new voice drawled, a hint of warning lacing his amusement. It was that elven prince, the one who had captured the Company. Stepping away from the side wall where he’d been watching, the elf’s lips twisted in a smirk. “I’ve seen what she can do with a staff. You do not want to run afoul of it, Laebon.”

Daphne’s entire demeanor changed as she spotted the prince. “Legolas,” she said with pleasure. “I didn’t know you had returned.”

The elf… _bowed?_ Again, what? Aleks pinched himself. Had he fallen into _The Twilight Zone?_

With a smile – a fond one, Aleks noted with increasing incredulity – Legolas greeted, “It is good to see you looking so well, Hwinneth.”

Who was Hwinneth? Wait. They’d _renamed_ her? 

She waved it away and began to leave the cluster of dwarves towards the elf. Hesitated. Chewing on her lower lip, she turned back to them, her gaze avoiding Aleks this time and all for the Three Bs. 

“Child.”

At that ringing command from the Elvenking, she tore herself free and headed right for the king, her shoulders back and stride purposeful.

Bombur arched a brow at Aleks and murmured, “You said such things, Aleks?” Just beyond him, Bofur and Bifur looked none-too-happy themselves.

Aleks’s lips flattened. Grudgingly, he answered, “Yeah.” A part of him bristled, the words to defend himself on his tongue, but he swallowed them down, one hand rubbing at his cheek. 

The heavy dwarf shook his head, and the other two directed their attention back towards Daphne. Thankfully, Aleks didn’t feel as if they were condemning him. No, it more felt like they were bemoaning that the entire situation had developed at all.

Daphne’s steps carried her right up to the dais, and to Aleks’s further shock, the Elvenking’s austere expression melted into something gentler. The elf’s hand trailed from the crown of her head to her chin. Just as shocking, she not only let him, but she leaned into his touch. 

Aleks let a bit of the satyr out, not enough to physically alter his appearance, but sufficient to allow him to hear every low word when the Elvenking addressed his sister.

_“Penneth,_ you should not have come,” the elf said, and Aleks bit off a wordless curse at the way the elf _played_ her. So sympathetic, so sincere. “There is no point, inflicting hurt upon yourself this way.” Cool, censuring eyes drifted over her head to the guard who’d escorted her. “It should not have been encouraged.”

“What’s he saying?” Ori whispered off to Aleks’s left. 

“I cannot hear. Is he threatening her?” Nori said in equally soft tones.

“’Course he is,” Gloin muttered. “He’s an elf. Never trust an elf.”

“Should we charge him? I bet we could take them,” Kíli declared.

“Without weapons?” Dwalin snorted in disdain. “Think with your head, not your guilt.”

Aleks’s attention never deviated. Underneath the grumble of dwarvish voices, he heard the armed elf tell his king, “Queen Rinel commanded, sire. She believes Hwinneth’s presence will ease relations.”

“Did she?” the Elvenking said as if to himself. To the wannabe SEAL elf, he ordered, “For the duration of our…guests’…visit, you are assigned to my dryad. Faelon will be reassigned to Amdiron. Understood, Belegon?”

“He just assigned that elf to guard her,” Aleks murmured to Thorin. The Elvenking’s gaze shot his way and narrowed. “And he can hear every word we say.”

“Elvish hearing,” Thorin replied. Arms folded at his chest, his body turned towards Aleks while his eyes faced forward. “What did he tell her?”

“That she shouldn’t have come, that she was hurting herself by doing so.”

Thorin’s lips compressed and his chin dipped an inch. “He blackens our character.”

_Building on the foundation I laid._ Thorin said nothing to that effect, but Aleks knew the dwarf king must’ve realized it, too. 

Daphne halted the elven sovereign from leaving the dais at Thorin’s accusation. She tugged at him, and the Elvenking returned his attention to her. “Please, _Gwathadar,”_ Aleks heard her plead. “I know there is bad blood between you.”

“Do you presume to instruct me, Hwinneth?” the king asked coolly.

Her hand jerked back, and her face resumed its blank, plastic appearance. A front, that was all that blank expression was, Aleks began to realize. A mask to hide behind, and he immediately hated it. 

“Of course not,” she said in a hollow, polite voice.

Aleks’s eyes narrowed on the Elvenking. _Leave her alone._ Aleks had done enough damage. She did not need someone capitalizing upon her emotional wounds like this. And that was exactly what was happening. The elf Thorin described had no conscience, no heart. Aleks didn’t buy this guy’s act for a second. 

“Sire,” Daphne began, and the Elvenking’s face hardened. He pressed a single digit to her lips. 

“No, _penneth._ I am still _Gwathadar.”_ A long finger tapped her cheek. “Do not hide yourself from me.”

“Thorin, what does _penneth_ mean?” Aleks asked under his breath while he watched in disbelief as Daphne’s mask vanished upon command, revealing a worried, torn look upon her face. 

The dark haired dwarf’s frown deepened. “It means ‘little one’ in elvish. He called her this?”

Aleks nodded, about to ask about the other unfamiliar term when the interaction across the room again snared his full attention.

_“Gwathadar,”_ Daphne said, her fingers flicking the ties to her leather vest. “I would never tell you what to do. But I swear to you, Thorin is not what you believe.” Her eyes lifted once more and stared earnestly into the elf’s face. “He’s honorable. He’s fought long and hard for his people.”

The Elvenking’s face closed down. “For his treasure, you mean.”

“No.” And here, Daphne’s voice firmed.

“She defends you,” Aleks murmured. 

Thorin’s head whipped to him, then back around. “She places herself in danger,” Thorin murmured. 

“No, for his people,” Daphne stressed. 

“Hwinneth,” the Elvenking said after a long stretch of silence as they stared at one another. “You interfere. Remember your words to me about change. You should not meddle here.”

What was that supposed to mean? “That makes no sense.” He didn’t even realize he’d spoken aloud until he heard Thorin’s hushed, “Tell me.” Aleks lifted one palm in a bid for patience. 

Thranduil’s vague words scored a hit. Daphne scrunched her eyes shut and hung her head. “I know.”

The Elvenking framed her face and lifted her head. Aleks looked on and was ill. The elf played his part too well. The Ice Princess had thawed in Aleks’s absence, and at exactly the wrong time for her heart. 

“Aleks?” Thorin prodded him.

“He’s playing her,” Aleks growled.

The Elvenking’s Arctic eyes burned Aleks the second he uttered the words. Not looking away, the king ordered his elf, “Escort her to her chambers, Belegon. _Penneth,_ I will meet with you when I am done here.”

“Yes, sir.” Daphne executed the saddest little bow and headed towards a side exit, one that would not require her to traverse the entire length of the room again. G.I. Elf kept pace, one palm hovering near the curve of her spine. 

Aleks tore free from the Elvenking’s regard to watch his twin. She glanced over her shoulder at them, her green eyes wide with worry and apology. “It’s okay,” Aleks mouthed when her eyes drifted past him. 

Daphne tripped. Her eyes never veered, even when the elf steadied her. It was like they got glued in place. Her face hardened with anger.

“Go,” he mouthed. 

As she turned away, something else caught her gaze. Aleks didn’t see what it was, but behind the Elvenking’s back, her face bled of all color and her mouth formed an “O” in horror. 

Aleks whipped around, trying to figure out what had put that look on her face. More than one dwarf, too, muttered and craned his neck about. No chance to ask. She vanished through the door, ushered by the armed elf. 

The atmosphere dropped a good twenty degrees the moment she left. Any pleasantry evaporated from the Elvenking’s face, proof to Aleks that it had been false to begin with.

“You are fortunate I let you live,” the Elvenking declared in an ominous croon, his gaze still locked upon Aleks. The dwarves shuffled around, and Aleks found himself next to Bilbo in the center of them.

“How?” Thorin demanded, voice low and dangerous. “How did you come to have her here?”

The Elvenking smirked at Aleks before directing his pale eyes towards Thorin. Ignoring the question, he descended the dais. “You found the way, didn’t you?” he asked. “Some secret way into the mountain? Yes, you must have.” His head cocked to the side, his gaze sweeping over the Company.

Abruptly, he announced, “Hwinneth’s presence is not open to discussion.” The elf pivoted and returned to his throne, one hand lifting to caress the length of branch that formed the arm of his seat. “I can assist you. Mounts. Provisions. Weapons.” He sat slowly, languidly. “What say you, Thorin, son of Thrain? From one king to another, can we come to an accord?”

Thorin’s eyes spat daggers. “I would sooner trust the word of an orc than that of Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. You have no honor. No, you will not touch one coin, not one gem of Erebor’s wealth.”

The elf sprang to his feet, face contorting with icy fury. One arm lifted in a curt gesture to his guards. “You will change your mind, Oakenshield.”

“Never!”

“Oh, I think you will. Each day of your precious mortal life is irreplaceable. Can you not hear the tick of the clock counting down the minutes of your short, wretched life? I, however, I have forever. Think on this while you sojourn in my domain.”

“You have no right to keep us,” Thorin spat.

“I have every right,” the Elvenking declared as they were hustled from the room. “For your perfidy and your lack of honor, _dwarf,_ I have every right.” The large doors swung shut behind them, but Aleks’s last glimpse of the Elvenking was the elf standing before his throne, his eyes burning in victory.

The elves prodded the Company with their weapons and led them from the hall. Down into the depths of the earth, they were forced, through caves in an underground network of painted and carved passageways that seemed endless. Their journey ended in an oblong cavern, large but not so vast as the throne room. Lining its faintly rectangular shape were man-sized cubbies roughly chiseled out of stone. Each was capped by doors made of thick iron bars. 

Cells.

_Daphne?_ He suspected the attempt was useless, but he had to try. _Daph?_

Two by two they were ushered inside cages and locked within. “These fine lodgings wouldn’t happen to come with food, now, would they?” Bofur asked as the guards turned to go. “No?” 

They never answered. After lighting a few torches, their only mercy, they marched out and closed the prison door behind them.


	22. A Chat with a Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To SerendipitousSong: Ask and ye shall receive lol. :) Ty so much for your kind words!

### Chapter 21

The door closed at my back, granting me my first bit of privacy since the world had gone and gotten itself drop-kicked from orbit. 

_Bilbo, what are you doing here?_

My hands tore at my hair as I stared at a wall blindly. Had he not gotten the Ring? Or had some fool notion prevented him from using it? Either way, history had been derailed, and derailed spectacularly at that. With no Bilbo lurking about invisible to the eye, the dwarves could never hope to escape Thranduil’s dungeon. Everything hinged on that.

_If he doesn’t have the Ring…_

The consequences were staggering. The Ring was seeking a new master, knowing Gollum would never give it up. If Bilbo wasn’t handily nearby, it would find someone else, likely a goblin. And if _that_ happened, Sauron would be at full power about seventy years before Aragorn, Gimli, Theoden, and Eomer were ready. Frodo would never carry the Ring – a good thing for him, admittedly, but a catastrophic nightmare for all Middle Earth. 

_Stop panicking,_ I told myself. 

Right away, myself answered, _This is a perfectly good time to panic! Aleks and I may have single-handedly destroyed all of Middle Earth!_ I gasped for breath, hyperventilating and flapping my hands. What to do? 

I tried to get my horrified brain to think. _Okay._ Big inhale. _Okay, what should I do?_ First, talk to Bilbo. _If_ he didn’t have the Ring, I could panic, but maybe there was a logical explanation. With the authority Thranduil gave me, I could boost him from jail…probably. Once I convinced Weaponsmaster Halon and Captain Badhron of the urgency of the matter without cluing them in to the fact that the One Ring, the most coveted item ever, might be within easy reach of any elf ambitious enough to take it.

A soft rap on the door preceded Thranduil’s entrance. There was something so soothing about his presence. Ageless and unchanging in many ways, he was as solid as an oak. Stubborn, I’ll grant, but solid.

“I was uncertain I would be received with welcome,” he said lightly, coming closer to bestow a perfunctory kiss on my forehead. 

“Of course you are,” I exclaimed, hugging him tighter than his words warranted. But I was freaked. His whole family might be in imminent danger of falling into shadow because one tiny hobbit somewhere in the Elvenking’s caves had failed to take a fall in the Misty Mountains. 

Thranduil seemed taken aback, but his arms wrapped around me, returning the embrace. He waited patiently for me to collect myself and ushered me to the small sitting area before the balcony. “You were very adamant in your defense of the dwarf, _penneth.”_

“Which one?”

His lips twitched. “Indeed. You stood up to my guard on behalf of the biggest of the lot.”

“Bombur,” I said, watching him closely. “I value him, _Gwathadar.”_

A short, hard look. “I am proud of you. A month ago, you would not have dared to countermand my guard. But make no mistake, Hwinneth. If you put your trust in a dwarf, you will be disappointed.” He clasped his hands behind him. “But I was referring to Oakenshield.”

Oh.

“You trust him as well?” He gestured to one seat.

I sat. “I do.” The response was automatic. No hesitation.

He claimed another seat and leaned back, his lean fingers pressed together near his lips. “More than myself?”

I gave the question the weight it deserved. Both men were flawed. Thorin would succumb to dragon sickness. His judgment where elves were concerned was distorted and biased at the very least. _Not that I helped that, spilling the beans about the White Council._

Thranduil’s hatred seemed to run just as deep, though I couldn’t fathom why. Oh, I knew about his desire for the jewels, but it didn’t mesh with what I knew of him. Could Thranduil suffer from some version of dragon sickness, too? One directed solely at those gems?

Thorin had defended me. So had Thranduil. But if I had to choose which one I trusted more at this moment, “No.”

Satisfaction cross his face. “I am relieved.”

“That doesn’t mean I distrust Thorin,” I countered.

Thranduil lifted two fingers as if brushing that aside. Leaning forward with elbows on his knees, he claimed one of my hands in his. “It is difficult to know what knowledge you might possess,” he said. “So your patience, please, while I ask a few questions.”

Okay. A deep breath, and I nodded.

“What do you know of the events leading to the end of our alliance with the dwarves of Erebor?”

I almost flinched at the question. To say what I’d read shined an unfavorable light upon the Elvenking was a gross understatement. 

_“Penneth?”_

My breath exploded in an exhale. “Okay.” Meeting his eyes again, I told him, “Here’s what was recorded. There had been an alliance between your kingdoms. Tension rose when Thror tried to showoff, basically shoving a coffer of gems in your face and then slamming the lid shut like a child rubbing your nose in his possessions. The books say you were not pleased and left in insult.”

Try as I might, I could detect nothing from the placid expression upon his face. 

“Go on.” His fingers halted my nervous fidgeting. “I will not take umbrage to something you _read,_ Hwinneth.” His stern visage relented for a tiny smile.

My own smile was on the weak side. “It says that Smaug attacked Erebor, and the dwarves called for aid. Your forces answered the call, but when Thorin begged for help, you turned away.”

His smile adopted a bitter edge. “It is…incomplete,” he said after a moment. “You trust in me, believing me capable of this?”

Now I captured his hands. “It doesn’t fit with what I know about you.” My gaze held his. “I do trust you. With my life.”

A brow lifted. “And with theirs?”

I sagged, head dropping. “I know you hate them. What I don’t understand is _why.”_

Thranduil nudged my chin up before responding. “Let me tell you my version of the events before you judge me.” An edged expression. “Or my guests.” He waited for my nod before continuing. “The Greenwood was sickening. From the south. I could find no source, and no matter how many patrols I ordered to the area, we could not stem the tide of dark creatures and sickness that began to claim our land.” 

Thranduil claimed his feet and moved to the balcony, arms clasped behind him. “Such was our situation when I received an invitation from Thror, King Under the Mountain, to reaffirm our bonds. As you say, I traveled to Erebor with my queen and my heir by my side. Thror did indeed parade the riches of his kingdom before me. But from there, your books were less than accurate.” 

He rotated enough that I was visible from the corner of his eyes. “White gems were shown to me, gems of such beauty that I admit my heart was moved.” Now he faced me directly. “What the books fail to record is that those very gems magnified my abilities. Do you understand, _penneth?_ With those gems, it is possible Mirkwood would not exist.”

My eyes widened with every word, the sinking feeling of, _“Oh, no,”_ stealing over me. _Tell me Thror didn’t do it. Tell me he wasn’t so greedy…_ Gold sickness. Dragon sickness. Call it what one might, Thror had succumbed to it. Bad. Probably because of the Ring of Power he’d worn.

“I informed Thror of the threat to my kingdom and offered trade. I called upon our alliance, humbling myself to beseech his aid.” He swung around, his hair fanning at the abrupt, jerky move. “He refused. He laughed me to scorn before my wife and son. My words of reason failed to touch him, or his heir, Thrain, when I next appealed to him. That, Hwinneth, was the end of our _alliance,”_ he spat. “The dwarves placed their lust for wealth above the lives of my people. That, I will never forgive. My elves would no longer protect them at need, not after such an insult. So I informed them before I left.”

I slumped in my seat. Thorin had no idea. When Smaug had shown up, he’d thought the elves there in answer to his call. “Why were you there that day? When Smaug attacked?”

A wintry smile. “Our alliance with the dwarves of Erebor ended, but not so our ties to the men of Dale. I knew the dwarves would care nothing for those men should aught happen, and I was correct. They remained in their mountain fortress as fire rained down upon the city of men.”

_Like they had time to do more than gawk._ By all accounts, inaccurate as they were proving to be, Dale had been destroyed too fast for the dwarves to hope to intervene. But Thranduil had made his point. He’d had reason to end the alliance. In no way had he forsworn himself or betrayed trust. Though, really, punishing an entire people for the crimes of their king seemed a bit extreme. 

Not that I was going to open my mouth about it. 

“Do you see now, _penneth,_ why I caution you about the trust you so easily bestow upon them?” He knelt before my chair, hands gentle upon mine. 

“Thorin didn’t know, _Gwathadar._ They never told him.”

A crease appeared upon his forehead. “Surely he knew.”

“Not Thorin. He thought you had arrived to save them.”

A sheet of hair hid the Elvenking’s eyes from me for a time. “Your books are flawed,” he said. “Do we dare trust that history will unfold as they claim?”

“Dare we not?” I countered. “If they give a pathway to victory over the Dark Lord?”

He rose, hands once more clasped at his back. “They have been accurate thus far?” He must have read the dismay on my face, for his gaze sharpened. “Events have already deviated,” he accused. “Was it me? Did I truly welcome the dwarves with warmth upon their arrival on my doorstep?”

I couldn’t sit there. Nervous energy had me pacing across the room. “No. Your altercation with Thorin was pretty much spot-on.”

Stillness. “Yet something is amiss?”

I jerked my head once in a nod. “Maybe. If I’m right, something big is amiss.”

His palm flashed. “Have you yet sought counsel from my weaponsmaster and Captain Badhron?”

“I was planning on it,” I said. 

“See that you do. I will leave you now. And _iell nin?”_

_My daughter,_ he’d said. Another sharp nod from me as my throat tightened. He showed, time and again, that he cared in ways both big and small. 

“Heed my words. Helpful guidelines the books might be, but always remember, the future is not set in stone.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ll remember,” I promised.

OoOoOo

The cat prowled through dim, stone passageways and traversed immense caverns-turned-courtyards, his whiskers twitching and ears perked. Slit green eyes took in his surroundings with avid interest.

No one paid the juvenile calico any mind but for a few elf misses who shooed him away as he poked his head around doors, getting the layout of the land. He checked each entryway systematically. Not one room, one hall, or minor passageway escaped his scrutiny. 

Bah, but this place was vast. Much more so than Aleks had anticipated. From within his cell, he grimaced when the cat discovered yet another looping stone hallway that branched into a whole network of offshoots. 

“Place is like a bloody maze,” he groused without opening his eyes. 

His cellmate, Dwalin, grunted. If Aleks opened his eyes, he knew he’d find the dwarf standing at the barred door, arms looped through the bars and weight resting upon a crossbar. 

“Elves in caves. I never thought to see the day,” Balin said from the next cell over. 

Kíli kicked his cell door in frustration, again, and swore. His impatience grated upon Aleks like rough grade sand paper, reminding the satyr that he was _trapped_ in a _cage._ Like his animal friends, the stifling, cloistered sensation of walls closing in upon him too easily turned to outright panic. 

_Shut up, Kíli._

Aleks needed no reminders that they were locked up. Even the poetic drivel Kíli had spouted about the she-elf had been preferable to this, though really, the dude was no poet.

Aleks retreated a little further down the thread that linked him to the cat, immersing himself in the cat’s freedom. Hours passed as he prowled. He cleared every area, one by one, until only the royal residence remained unsearched. But here, he was stumped. Royal Guards – somber, stony-faced sentinels in starched perfection – stood watch at every tunnel entrance. Aleks attempted to strut past, but he’d been denied passage, the elves barring his path. 

_The king too good to wear cat hair?_ He sniffed and turned away, tail twitching. Now what? _Maybe there’s another way in._

If the pattern held true, each of the community clusters had a courtyard, a communal “outdoor” space that allowed fresh air in through vents bored through the cavern roof to the outside. Aleks could see the sense in them. _He_ sure wouldn’t want to live below ground without such a space. 

_Where are you, Daphne?_ He padded into a side tunnel, leaving the guards and their haughty vigilance behind.

He discovered the royals’ courtyard by pure accident. A rat had scurried by, and his control of the cat had wavered. Instantly, the obstinate bit of goods had taken off, shooting down one hall after another, that tail flagging him on, always one step ahead. Elves shrieked as the cat dived between their feet in his haste to capture his prey, and this time, no one stopped him. 

Countless turns later, the rat disappeared through a gnawed off hole in a door, escaping with a minute wriggle. 

Aleks panted in sympathy with the cat, irritated that the cat, too, hungered in vain. Turning about to get his bearings, he found himself in a virtual rain forest. Lush vegetation reached for the dome of the cavern roof. Songbirds nested high overhead, silent in the dark – was it not yet dawn? – while squirrels dozed in their burrows, invisible to the cat’s eyes but clear to Aleks’s senses. Crickets chirruped, and an owl hooted. 

The nature lover in him goggled in amazement. An entire ecosystem had been transplanted down here, preserved out of reach from the diseased onslaught up above. 

Shaking himself free from the urge to explore the imported forest, Aleks followed the intermittent glow of flickering lights. Stepping from the forest, he found it enclosed by a swath of green paths and raised garden beds. A dryad would like it, but it sure wouldn’t provide the sunlight they craved. He scratched at an itch behind his right ear, wondering how his sister coped with living here. 

If she was here willingly.

_How,_ he asked himself again, _did she wind up here?_ It boggled the mind.

“Close,” he murmured to Dwalin.

“Aye?” The dwarf’s boots scuffed against the rough rock floor, drawing closer. “Difficult to get to?”

“Aye,” Aleks said. More and more, their vernacular slipped from his tongue. 

“Be difficult, escaping and getting to the lass.”

_Aye._

He nosed around, making a slow circuit around the courtyard. Balconies emptied into the space, giving him access to, well, pretty much everything. 

A raised voice – decidedly not an elf’s – had him sprinting across the courtyard, leaping over raised beds and around ornate statues. _Second floor,_ he determined. But a cat was nothing if not adaptable. 

He sprang up onto one statue that lifted its arms heavenward with a flat disk in its hands. His first jump carried him to a shoulder and his second onto the disk. From there, he was able to vault onto decorative stone molding that bridged the space between two balconies. It was narrow, and his paws slipped more than once, but he persisted.

The cat scrambled onto the balcony behind some potted plants. Head inching around the fronds, he finally located his twin. 

She looked exhausted, frustrated and ready to either smack someone or bawl. Two elves stood near the door to her apartment, and neither looked very pleased with her. Irritated might be a better description. Annoyed, even closer. 

“Look, all I need to do is _talk_ with him,” she said, the words holding a note that spoke of frequent repetition.

The elf in uniform held up a palm. “With all due respect,” he said, “unless you are willing to inform Weaponsmaster Halon and myself the reason _why_ you must address one of the prisoners, I cannot in good conscience allow you access.”

The other elf – Weaponsmaster Halon? – flapped a hand in exasperation and limped out the door without word. Daphne waved her hands in the air. “Captain Badhron, why can’t you understand that until I verify something, the less you know, the better?”

Badhron sighed, his patience plainly at its end. “It is my duty to ensure the security of the royal family and my people. To be frank, _lady,_ your loyalties are suspect. Even should you grant me a plausible explanation for this request, I am not of a mind to grant it. Now, good day.” He paused, glaring out over the balcony. “Good _night.”_

He turned upon a heel, his boots rapping across the corridor’s hard surface with sharp clicks. Given how silently elves normally traveled, Aleks took it as further proof of just how ticked off the captain was.

Daphne slammed the door behind him, her face white. 

So. Aleks pursed his lips. It sounded like she’d attempted to gain access to them, and she’d been barred. 

Just as he’d figured. The elves were messing with her. Using her, probably. The cat’s claws extended, scratching along stone floor. He eyed her, really looked for the first time in years. 

_I don’t know her,_ he realized. A big part of him growled that it was her fault, but a new side of him didn’t believe that anymore. Not entirely. Oh, he knew she liked the Shire and folksy music, but nothing of what made her tick. 

To be honest, he still didn’t trust her completely. He couldn’t since he knew so little about her. The dwarves intended to claim her. They already considered her one of them. Aleks wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Maybe he could convince her to settle in the Shire when Bilbo left them. 

_Figure it out later,_ he told himself. First, he had to get her out of here. It was what _Appa_ would want, and the dwarves would insist upon.

In the soft glow of a lantern’s light, he watched as Daphne stomped across the room to an alcove separated from the rest of the apartment by gauzy, yellow drapes. She slipped between the panels and crawled onto a massive bed, yanking a familiar looking tote onto the mattress with her. 

“Found her,” Aleks murmured.

“Thorin,” Dwalin called. “He’s found her.” More than one dwarf cheered, while others burst out with questions. 

“Silence.” Everyone quieted down at Thorin’s softly spoken command. “Is she safe, Aleks?”

Eyes sealed shut, Aleks said, “Yeah. She looks okay. She tried to get permission to see us and was turned down flat.” He shook his head. “She must be upset. She’s digging into her chocolate stash.”

Bombur’s feigned whimpers of protest at that revelation made even Aleks snort.

Aleks prodded the cat between the curtains and jumped up on the bed. Daphne paused mid-chew, her cheeks bulging with chocolate. Based upon the wrappers, she was going to town on Kit-Kats. 

Maybe she was a bit more than just upset. _Your Honor, I would like to point out Exhibit A._ Five travel-size Kit-Kat foil wrappers sat torn and discarded next to her shin. Had she shoved all five into her mouth at once? The dusting of crumbs on her chin plus the bulging cheeks seemed to confirm it.

“I hate to break it to you, Bombur, but at this rate you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t finish off her entire stash of chocolate tonight.” 

The big dwarf clucked sadly. “A tragedy, that. Pure tragedy. What I could do with such a wonderful thing.” 

“Brownies,” Aleks declared. “She could teach you how to make brownies.”

“Oh?” the pudgy, dark haired dwarf asked with interest.

Daphne chewed again slowly, her eyes locked with the cat’s. “’Ello ‘itty,” she said around her mouthful. Aleks got an eyeful of chocolate-painted teeth.

His tail flicked and ears twitched. _Come on, Daph, do the math._ He stared at her, unblinking.

She swallowed with difficulty and licked her lips. “I’m sorry, Kitty, chocolate’s no good for cats.”

Blink. Blink. 

“No catnip. Nothing. Sorry.”

More staring. Aleks chuckled in his cell, getting a kick out the way she looked so unnerved. 

“Aleks?” Thorin asked.

“I’ve got the cat staring at her. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Can’t you communicate with her?” Dori asked.

Hmm. Could he? 

“Shouldn’t you be off hunting fat mice or something?” she asked, her fingers sliding towards the Kit-Kat bag. Aleks walked forward and placed a paw on a candy bar as it was extricated. Then, he shook his head in a clear _no._

Emotions chased each other across her face, so fast he missed most of them. The last one, though, he read loud and clear: fury. “Aleks,” she spat.

He nodded, _Yes._ He knew he deserved the coals she’d heap on his head, but he was still smarting from the first dose. He pasted a woeful expression on his feline face, attempting to divert her anger.

“How _dare_ you,” she hissed, rising to her feet with fists at her sides. “Get out.”

Aleks’s gut clenched. He lifted a paw beseechingly. 

“You think I’m going to fall for that again?” she burst out in a hoarse voice, eyes watery. _“Get out.”_

The pain in her eyes shredded his insides. He hesitated, body poised to retreat. It began to dawn on him just what he’d thrown away. Always, she’d tried to mend fences. She’d wanted him. Had he utterly destroyed that? 

“You deceived me,” she whispered. 

All he could do was nod again and ward off the thick feeling creeping into his throat. 

_“How could you do that to me?”_ the wail erupted from her soul of souls. She turned away, body quaking. A scornful little snort. “You wouldn’t even be here if you didn’t need rescuing.”

He shook his head, _no,_ heart racing, but she didn’t see it. What she said, it wasn’t true. If they’d escaped, he’d still be here, seeking her out. He’d been wrong, and he wanted to fix it. 

But how could he tell her that? And why should she believe him? He’d changed. He saw everything differently now, but how could he possibly convince her of that after what he’d done? 

Aleks’s hands fisted, and Dwalin nudged him. When the dwarf had seated himself beside him, he didn’t remember. 

“Master Hunt?” the dwarf asked quietly. 

Aleks wiped a stray tear away. “She’s hurt. I knew- I knew that she would be. But seeing it…”

The dwarf grunted. 

Daphne paced with agitated little steps, her face contorted with anguish. She paused near the balcony, and Aleks followed, sitting beside the potted plant. She hung her head, such pain radiating off of her that Aleks felt his own head drop onto his bent knees. 

_I’m sorry._ It was woefully inadequate, but it was all he had.

She returned to him, dropping down tailor-style, her brow creased and mouth pinched. “Just to be clear, the only reason I’m not throwing you off the balcony is because of the dwarves, got it? This is for Bombur. I don’t trust you, and I really don’t like you. But we are dropping the personal stuff for now. I need to know if you can communicate with the others.”

_I really don’t like you._ Combined with her scathing pronouncement earlier, Aleks hurt more than he’d anticipated. He forced his emotions to the side. _Yes,_ he nodded. 

She exhaled in a huff. “I need you to ask Bilbo something for me. It’ll sound strange, but it is important. Like, world-shattering important.”

What? What could be so vital? 

“Will you ask him?”

_Uh, sure?_ He nodded his assent. 

“Okay. When you were in the Misty Mountains, in Goblin Town, did Bilbo find anything? Pick up a piece of jewelry?”

What and…what? Aleks shot straight up. How did she know about Goblin Town? 

“Aleks?”

His mind raced, trying to figure out how she might have obtained the knowledge and coming up empty. 

“Aleks?”

He nodded once, shortly, and settled the cat into Sphinx-pose. His own eyes cracked open. “She wants me to ask Bilbo a question.”

Thorin appeared at his cell door, his gray eyes dark in the low torchlight. “Ask.”

Unable to see the hobbit, Aleks tossed in that direction, “Bilbo, did you pick up any jewelry when the goblins had us?”

“The lass asked that?” Gloin asked.

Ori snorted. “Shouldn’t she be asking that of Nori?” the scholar quipped with a lively grin.

“Goblin jewelry? Who would touch it?” Nori sniffed in disdain.

“Silence.” Again, Thorin’s calm authority brought immediate order. “Did she give any reason for such a strange question?”

“No,” Aleks answered, one hand lifting and dropping. “But she looks pretty worked up over it.”

Thorin’s right brow hiked upward. Turning, he asked, “Bilbo?”

“N-no. Not a thing. Jewelry? Me?” 

“That’s what I thought,” Aleks said back. “Hold up.” Closing his eyes physically, he opened the cat’s eyes. With slow care, he shook his head, _no._

Daphne looked ready to cry. “It’s gone wrong. It’s all gone wrong.” Wringing her hands, she jumped to her feet and began to pace. 

_What is she talking about?_ He watched her frenetic pacing, baffled. And what happened to the Ice Princess to turn her into this emotional basket-case? _Duh, idiot. I happened._ Guilt. A tired feeling. 

Hugging herself, she sat down on the elven version of a couch, an awkward-looking contraption too flimsy for a man to stretch out upon. She stared off into space for a full minute, unmoving but face etched with strain. Then, she shook herself as if from a trance and stared down at him. “I’ll find a way to get to you guys. Be prepared. And listen very closely, Aleks. The stories about Middle Earth from home? They tell of the events you just lived through. The thunder-battle. Beorn. Your journey through Mirkwood. The spiders. _All of it._ But more, they tell of the future, a future where the second greatest evil in all of this land’s history will be defeated. The stories tell how it happens. And it has to happen, Aleks, or all of Middle Earth, from the Shire to the dwarf kingdoms, all of it will fall into shadow. The people will be hunted, enslaved, and butchered. Do you hear me?”

He nodded dumbly, shock freezing his limbs. Her words reached him, but he couldn’t believe them. Yet, he _did._

“I’ll tell you the rest when I get to you. But tell Thorin, for the future to work out properly, he _has_ to stay here for now. To fix something that’s gone off track, I need to take Bilbo. Ask him to loan me Bofur, Bifur and Bombur. I’ll try to explain more when I reach you.” She looked around, hand grabbing a fistful of hair. “Can you find your way back from here?”

Aleks nodded. 

“Good. I need to speak to Thranduil. _Don’t_ give me that look, I know what I’m doing. I’ll be down after. I may need you to lead the way if things don’t go according to plan.” She changed tracks with lightning speed. “Can the three dwarves ride well? Can Bombur?”

So she thought she could lift the Three Bs from prison and leave the rest of them behind? Yeah, right. This was going to go over well. 

Keeping a light touch on the cat, he climbed to his hoofed feet and copied some of his compatriots, hanging arms on the crossbars near chest level. “Thorin? I’ve got news.”

The dwarf king gave him a level stare. “Your expression does not fill me with confidence, Aleks.”

Aleks exhaled with a small laugh. “It’s a doozy. You remember how I told you my world has books about this one?” Through the cat’s ears, he heard Daphne queue up _Everybody Knows_ on her mp3 player. Aleks winced. _Couldn’t you find anything a little less depressing, Daph?_

“Aye, laddie,” Gloin said as Thorin’s head dipped in the affirmative. 

Feeling like he was springing off the high dive, he lowered the boom. “What I didn’t know, having never read them, is that they don’t just recount your past. They cover this quest. She knows about the thunder-battle and Goblin Town. And,” he said louder as the dwarves exclaimed around him, “the future, too.”

Silence. Thorin tapped the crossbar of his cell door, his brow pursed. “This is not the first time she has possessed knowledge she shouldn’t,” the dwarf said as if recalling something. “Do you believe her?” he asked at last.

Aleks hesitated. He looked at her, really _looked_ at her through the cat’s vision. “She’s freaking out,” he told the Company. “I don’t think she’s making it up.”

“Freaking out?” Ori asked, the young dwarf’s face confused.

_Right._ “Sorry. Back home, to be freaked out means to be really, really scared. She said things have gone off track.” 

It had to be his fault, though she’s not said as much. He’d have banged his head upon the cell bars in frustration, but his antlers prevented him, and he was not willing to return to his normal human appearance. To do so would limit his gifts and cost him contact with the cat, so he instead scuffed a hoof across the stone floor beneath him. “Probably my fault. Daph and I weren’t in the original tales.”

“The future is not written in stone with a chisel, Master Hunt,” Thorin said. “Our destinies are not predetermined.”

_I guess not._ But what loomed ahead that had her so frightened? “She says she needs to borrow Bofur, Bifur and Bombur.”

The three dwarves in question looked to each other and adopted cocky grins. “Oh, aye, of course. Discriminating tastes, that lass. What will we be doing, then?” Bofur asked.

Aleks shook his head. “I don’t know. She said she’d explain when she got here. But Thorin? She says you have to remain here until we are done.”

There was no way Aleks was staying behind.

OoOoOo

I prepared a knock-out herbal concoction – my own secret project I’d developed years before to add to my arsenal against Aleks (don’t ask) – and then hurried to the door. It was my insurance, and I really hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.

Throwing open the door, I almost mowed Belegon down in my haste to reach Thranduil. The elf cocked a brow and looked me over with suspicions that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.

“I need to see my _gwathadar,”_ I told him.

His only answer was a slow shake of the head. 

“Why not?” I cried.

“Orders.”

Orders. My gaze traveled back to my rooms and spotted the little calico cat watching with too much intelligence. Aleks was keeping tabs. What kind of craziness was it that my ace in the hole was my back-stabbing twin? 

“You realize your orders are against the Elvenking’s express wishes, don’t you?” I asked, turning back to him.

The elf lifted a palm. No further words were forthcoming. He stood in my path, silent and immovable. 

Great. I’d gotten a bellyful of “not our kind” from the two elves Thranduil had selected to be my advisers, and now it looked like the captain, at least, had taken a step further to actively distrusting me. 

My patience ran out. I spritzed Belegon in the face with my concoction and watched him go down like a felled tree, his weapons making the most awful racket as he crashed to the floor. 

_Never mess with a dryad._

With a frown, I stole furtive looks up and down the hall, waiting for an alarm to be raised. 

Aleks’s _mrrow_ prodded me into action. I grabbed Belegon’s arms and dragged him into my room. I rolled him onto his back, panting. He weighed a ton with all that stuff on his body, and it had been a chore to get a grip on him without burning myself on the paraphernalia he wore. 

The cat rubbed up against my side. 

I shoved him away, though not hard enough to hurt the animal. “Stow it. I don’t need _your_ fake sympathy.” Guilt, guilt, guilt. I ground my teeth together against it. In a less-hostile tone, I said, “I know. I’ve done it now.” 

Perhaps I’d acted too hasty, but… Bah, it was done. “If we have to go the sneaky route, I don’t want him sending elves after us,” I told Aleks. “We’d never make it through Mirkwood, not with Legolas the mostly likely one sent in pursuit.”

The cat looked stunned. 

Why was I explaining myself to _him?_ Grumbling under my breath, I returned to my alcove and grabbed my ebook reader. I intended to show it to my _gwathadar,_ but my steps slowed. His advisers hadn’t believed me. More, though they hadn’t flat-out said it, I got the distinct impression that they were none too happy about my position in their king’s household. It occurred to me to wonder for the first time how widely that sentiment was shared. 

And that nagging fear returned, the one that claimed no one loved me, that it was all an act. I scowled at Aleks, for sure as rain, its return was due to him. It hissed that Thranduil welcomed me solely for what I could do. I didn’t want to believe it; in part, I didn’t. No one could be that good an actor. 

Could he? 

I turned the ebook reader over in my hands. The fact was, if the Elvenking either _didn’t_ believe me or decided the venture too risky, it was all over. For him, for his people, the dwarves, the kingdoms of men, even the Shire. The One Ring was _that_ big a deal. Worse, what if he figured out it was the One Ring? Would it tempt him? _Stupid question, of course it would._ It tempted Gandalf and Galadriel. Thranduil would not be spared that joy. 

I had two options as I saw it. One, go to the Elvenking and explain what had to happen in general terms. Let the cards fall where they may. Or two, take care of this myself, thereby making certain he was not forewarned to stop me. Every inch of me longed to choose door number one, but the seriousness of the situation demanded option two.

An option that meant leaving my new home. The beginnings of panic clawed into me with no warning. _What if I’m not welcomed back?_ I wanted to hyperventilate at the horrifying idea. My throat clogged instantly.

_They’ll understand._

I’d have felt worlds better if I could seek out Caranoran, but he was royalty, and I’d sworn not to reveal the future to them for fear they’d come under fire by Sauron. 

_You have to do this,_ I told myself. 

I ignored Aleks’s questioning meow and thought long and hard about what needed to be done. My gaze slid down towards the prone elf. 

He’d do. 

I returned to my bag and loaded it back up. I hastily scrawled a note upon a blank piece of paper: _Read this! Help me!_ I then detailed how to work an ebook reader, a crash course I hoped Belegon would understand. Next, I bookmarked the _Lord of the Rings_ file to the scene with the Council of Elrond, adding a side note about where the Ring came from. I placed both on Belegon’s chest and folded one big hand over it.

Aleks _mrrowed_ again. 

My fear of losing this new family grew with every step I took towards seeing this task done. I could barely see the words I’d written, my sight wavered so. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. _Steady. Thranduil will understand._

I turned to the cat, angrily dashing moisture from my cheeks. _Buck up,_ I commanded myself. “At least one elf should know the truth in case we fail. Maybe he can save things if I get myself killed.”

Clutching my spritzer and my tote, I raced from the room.

OoOoOo

Aleks clutched the bars of his cage. He’d had no idea his sister was that desperate for family. She’d been so cold for years – how was he supposed to know it had all been an act?

She was trying to lock it down into Ice Princess mode again, but he could tell from the lift of her chin that her chosen course of action was brutally hard on her. Daphne needed what he had with the Company, and for the first time, he dared to imagine sharing them. Freely. 

“Aleks?” Dwalin’s hand came to his shoulder in a rough display of affection. 

_Affection she’s so starved for, she thinks she’s found it with that elf,_ he noted with bitter guilt. He touched his face, shocked to find his cheeks damp. 

“What has happened, Aleks?” Thorin demanded. 

“They wouldn’t listen. She used some spray from her bag and knocked out her bodyguard – you remember, that elf armed to his eyeteeth? She’s on her way now.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “She left information with the guard in case…” He couldn’t say it.

“In case?” Fíli prodded from beneath lowered brows. The blond dwarf’s mustache looked grungy and his beard matted. He looked like he’d been to Hades and back. 

_We all do,_ Aleks suspected.

Aleks kicked his door. “In case she doesn’t survive whatever scheme she’s cooked up.”

Thorin rubbed his brow with one blunt finger. “Are you still with her?”

Aleks nodded. “Yeah, the cat is. It’s nighttime, so the halls are fairly empty.” 

“She’ll have to steal the keys from one of the elves,” Nori piped up. “Coming here without them will do us no good.”

_Keys._ He bet Daphne hadn’t thought of it, either. “Can’t you pick the lock?”

Nori tugged on a big earlobe. “Now, you see, for _that_ you’d be needing a burglar.”

Groans all around as Bilbo hastily informed them that he had no idea how to pick a lock. 

“Right. Keys. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.” Aleks closed his eyes. 

He heard Bofur ask, “Did he just say he was peeling his eyes?”

OoOoOo

_**Elsewhere** _

Muriste l’Adelon screamed within the confines of her private chambers, hands fisted at her sides and glowing blue-green eyes spitting death as she picked up a vase and hurled it against the wall, watching it shatter without a hint of remorse. Her lips curled back in a silent snarl.

Where were they? 

With another shriek, her hands tore across a mantle, dashing candlesticks and knickknacks onto the floor. It made no _sense!_ For months, she’d scoured every corner of Faerie, certain the soul who had stolen the naiads had been another of her kind, an echnari. Though outright kin slaying was denied them, they often employed armies of brute creatures to wage war upon one another. Given the lack of a mage sign to betray the abductor’s identity, she’d been confident an echnari had used the current crisis to undermine her position. Someone had declared war upon her.

Muriste kicked silken pillows from her path, storming from the room. The second her feet crossed the threshold, her pace modulated to calm placidity and her face emptied of anything but determination. 

What could have taken them? 

Faerie had weakened drastically in the ensuing months, more so than even Ovid had anticipated. It occurred to her that perhaps the naiads, even on Earth realm as they’d been, had possessed more of a stabilizing effect than previously believed possible. That perhaps the open portals between the realms had allowed the naiads’ balancing natures to touch Faerie vicariously. 

But that was nonsense. To believe such drivel implied the naiads were no longer in Earth realm…or Faerie. It further implied that other realms existed about which the echnari were completely unaware. Even if that was possible (and it wasn’t), why would some power from another, unknown world take an interest in an obscure race like the naiads? Why take _them?_

No, she was missing something. 

“Tizzik,” she summoned in a whisper-soft, icy voice as her steps halted. 

In a puff of smoke, a small, pointed-eared, leathery skinned imp appeared at her feet. It groveled quite satisfactorily, its purplish, foot-high form bowing deeply. “Missstresss. How might I ssserve you?”

“How fares the war on Earth realm?” She’d not kept up with it, too consumed with retrieving the naiads and saving her own skin. Why bother? What could humans do against the might of the echnari?

“Sssatisssfactory,” Tizzik replied. 

She resumed her measured steps towards her private library. The imp hopped along in her wake. “The lesser fae? Have they been brought back under our rule?” she asked coolly.

The imp made a squeaky noise, its version of a scoffing sound. “Of courssse. Sssome resssissst, but mossst have been reclaimed.”

“Good. Very good.” She halted once more, staring down at the disgusting looking creature at her feet. “Spread the word. Any who find and bring me the naiads will be rewarded with freedom for their entire race. When we leave Earth realm, it will be theirs to do with as they will. Anyone not aiding us will be rounded up and returned to Faerie.”

Tizzik bowed and vanished with another popping burst of smoke. 

Her lip curled up in disgust, and she waved away the lingering, putrid smell. 

The naiads would attempt to return to their werewolf guardians, would they not? After all, the alpha had professed the odd family had become quite close-knit. 

_Or he lied._ Lying, she’d discovered, was a freedom the lesser fae had acquired during their long centuries within the Earth realm. _If he lied,_ she decided, _I will make a nice rug from his fur._

“Daphne Hunt. Aleks Hunt,” she said softly, listening with more than just her ears. There was no distant tug on the fabric of Faerie. Names had power, and she held theirs. 

Where could they be? 

Yet again, the notion of another, thus far unknown realm surfaced. Perhaps… Perhaps that idea merited further scrutiny.


	23. Three if by Mirkwood

### Chapter 22

I was more than regretting my chosen course of action long before Aleks-cat and I reached the dungeons. Dosing up Thranduil’s elves, leaving them unconscious like that –  
was I not betraying Thranduil’s trust in me? Shouldn’t I have sought him out if I really trusted him? 

Why was I doing this? I had a home here. The books had been wrong about the nature of the rift between the elves and dwarves. They could be wrong about other things, too. 

Like, say, the One Ring.

Why should I have to be the one to do this? I never asked for any of it, and I resented the snot out of it. 

The endless stream of angry thoughts played like a broken record, threatening my resolve. Yet, I couldn’t turn back. My feet refused to heed me each time I tried. It felt way too late. I’d assaulted the Elvenking’s Royal Guards with the intent of setting his prisoners free. It didn’t get much more damning than that. 

_This is your fault, Aleks._ The thought burned through me, and I glared at his tail, mentally heaping coals upon his head. Aleks kept glancing back. _Worried I’ll dump his sorry self on his butt and leave him high and dry._

I mean, really? What could I do to change things? Did I honestly believe I could hunt down Gollum with Bilbo at my side and wrest the Ring from him? Who did I think I was, _Xena, Warrior Princess?_ I didn’t even have the plucky sidekick! 

_This is so stupid._

One of my favorite, all-time characters, Cassandra from the _Touchstone Series,_ once morosely concluded that she’d been brainwashed by Samwise Gamgee and the Scooby Gang. She couldn’t turn her back on the people who relied upon her for their survival, no matter the cost to her personally. It was not a happy revelation to find I’d been contaminated by that same ideology. 

It was all noble in theory, but _living_ it? A smarter woman would be in her room, sipping fine wine, nibbling on chocolates as a maid fixed her a hot bath. Oh, yes – and happily gloating that her evil twin was locked up in a dungeon nearby.

_Chump,_ I sneered at myself.

Could I live with myself if I followed my more self-centered inclinations? Well, no. I wouldn’t want to be the kind of person who could. But still. Argh! 

So. Get Bilbo. Get him to the Ring. The fallout from my actions would have to wait. 

I was going to need help, more than the three dwarves (assuming Thorin let me borrow them). Who? Who could I possibly seek for aid? 

The iron keys in my pocket jangled their indictment as I followed Aleks down crude, spiraling stairs. I’d filched the torch at the top of the stairwell and made my way down gingerly. 

_Sprain an ankle, and abandon this idiotic mission,_ a part of me thought. Yeah. Save myself at the expense of an entire world. _Nice, Daphne._

We came to a door. Aleks sat at its base, cat eyes gazing up at me and blinking. Using the sleeve of my blouse to cover my hand, I tried the handle. Locked. “Here’s where we find out if the keys are worth the effort we went through for them.” Again using the fabric of my sleeve, I slipped the key ring out and tried the first key. Then, the second. Aleks’s borrowed cat swished its tail, a low growl emitting from its throat. 

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I grumbled. The tail froze mid-swing, and the cat nodded. Was I sure this was Aleks? Because Aleks wouldn’t be so nice to me. 

_Unless he wants something, idiot. Like, say, out of a cage._

The door swung open. I dropped the keys back into my pocket and dried my hands, my palms sweaty from gripping the torch so tight. The cat bolted downward and was soon greeted by dwarvish voices. 

I followed at a slower pace, heart thumping. The steps underfoot were steep, curved and uneven. Now that the moment had arrived, doubts foamed up like a shaken Pepsi can. What if the dwarves _had_ known of Aleks’s plan? What if Thranduil was right? I wiped damp palms upon my jeans, swapping the torch from one hand to the other. 

The dungeon was worse than I’d imagined. The entire thing had been chiseled out of rock with thick metal bars forming the front wall of each cell. Dwarf faces pressed against them, many of them streaked with dirt but bearing big grins. 

“Mistress Hunt.” _Thorin._

“Ah, it does my beard good to be seeing you, lassie,” Gloin said.

“Are ye well, Daphne?” Bofur, face serious for once.

Bifur slapped him lightly and responded in Khuzdul. 

“If you’ll be giving me those keys, I’ll get us out of here in two shakes,” Nori said, his hand outstretched. 

I stared at them. They all looked so sincere. 

“Daph?” Aleks, but I wasn’t ready to deal with him again. Not yet. While I’d been following the cat, it had been easy to “forget” it was Aleks. The reality of him hurt. 

I found the pair of walnut brown eyes I was seeking, and I crumpled. The fat braids of his beard were crusted with dirt and twigs, and his nose bore a splotch of mud, yet there was such an air of gentility, like a benevolent, younger Santa Claus that I’d adored this dwarf from day one. 

Which made my doubts all the more painful. “Did you know?” I asked him, chin quivering. 

_Bah, you are so weak. Buck up, Daphne. You have no time for this._ Yet there I stood like a whimpering baby. How pathetic could I get?

Bombur’s mouth gaped open, his brows shooting into his hairline. “Och, _no,_ lass. We had naught to do with the cruel jest played upon you. Surely you don’t believe we would participate in that?” At the same time, Bifur grumbled something in Khuzdul while Bofur reached out a hand through the bars of his cell, a silent appeal. 

One I couldn’t refuse. I hated crying, yet it seemed like since arriving in Middle Earth, it was all I did. My hand groped for Bofur’s as many of the dwarves burst into denials. Nori, Dori, Ori. Gloin. Loudest of all were Fíli and Kíli, who alternated angry disavowals with pleas for forgiveness. I held to the warm, callused hand and found a reassuring transparency. Bofur, I believed. In the flesh, he and his coterie I could not doubt as I read their anger on my behalf. Their hurt at my distrust. Bombur reached a hand to me, too, and I accepted it, nodding at the question in his eyes. 

Yes, I believed him. My head dropped with the weight of my relief. 

_No time for this._

The voice of reason. I pulled myself free with reluctance, Aleks’s eyes boring holes in my back. Shoving hands through my hair, I made my way to their king. Thorin gave me grave eyes, lines tracking across his brow. 

“I assure you, Mistress Hunt, only Aleks was aware of the intent behind his actions. Fíli and Kíli were deceived.” His dark gaze drifted beyond me, I presumed towards Aleks. “We would never condone such a thing.” 

No. He’d never stoop to such tactics. None of them would, I thought as my head panned, bringing them all into view by turn. Dwarves would tell you they despised you to your face. Anything less, I suspected, they would deem cowardly.

“Thank you,” I said, the words stilted.

After a short nod, Thorin’s arms folded before his chest, and his chin lowered. “Aleks tells me you insist I remain here.” 

In his shoes, _I_ sure wouldn’t listen. Stay in a cage? In Thranduil’s care? Given the animosity between them, I was quietly freaking out about how to make him stay. 

“Mistress Hunt? Daphne?” Softer, his words carrying to me and his cellmate, Dori, alone. “Speak to me.”

I set the torch down out of the way and then let my tote fall from my shoulders. Using my sleeve, I drew the keys from my pocket and offered them to him. “If you don’t like what I say, you can free yourself.” 

Stupid? Maybe. But the time-line was already fouled up. How much worse could it get than the One Ring going missing? 

Thorin accepted the keys with grave solemnity. “Tell me.” He tossed the key ring across the aisle to Bifur. The grizzled dwarf snatched them from the air and set to work on the door to his cell. 

“Does this mean you’ll let me borrow them?” I dared to ask.

“It means I know you believe you need them. They will be freed first.”

Fair enough. I cleared my throat. “Remember when we were in Rivendell?” I asked him. “We spoke of the Dark Lord?”

“I remember.” If anything, Thorin’s attention sharpened. I could feel the weight of the rest of the Company’s regard. They were being very quiet as Bifur ran through the keys.

I quoted Tolkien:

_“Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,_  
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,  
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,  
One for the Dark Lord on his throne.  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.  
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,  
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.” 

If it had been quiet before, what descended now was deeper, heavier.

“What does that mean?” Aleks asked from a cage behind me.

“Have you heard that before?” I asked Thorin. 

The dwarf shook his head. “I know of the Rings of Power,” he commented lowly, his attention inward. He would know of them. His father wore one. “The Dark Lord. This One Ring, it is the ring you mentioned in Rivendell.”

I paced, unable to stand still. “When the rings were forged, everyone accepted them as a gift. A boon.”

“They grant their Bearer power,” Thorin countered. “And power is rarely a hindrance in protecting one’s people.”

My head was shaking before he’d finished. “No, Thorin. They were the bait.”

“Bait?” Balin curled his hands around the bars before him. The gray-haired dwarf was intent as he awaited my answer.

“Bait,” I affirmed. “Everyone took them, not realizing the danger. The rings were forged in Eregion.” I raked one hand through my hair. “Sauron hid his nature and was involved in the forging of all but three. His intent was to use them to corrupt the elves. In secret, the Dark Lord forged another ring. The One Ring.” I paced some more. “It would control the other rings, all but the Greater Three.” I waved that away. Like they needed to know that. “The One Ring is bound to Sauron’s life force. It has, to some extent, its own will and mind. It will ever seek to return to its master.”

“You claimed Sauron cannot die until it is destroyed,” Thorin said.

“Yes,” I agreed. Bifur’s lock disengaged with a click, and the dwarf stepped out into freedom. I spared him a quick smile before continuing. “After the war, Isildur of Gondor claimed the One Ring. He said it would be a treasure for his line, a royal heirloom.” Snort. _How’d that work for ya, Isildur?_ “He was ensnared by it.” 

Returning to Thorin, I slicked a lock of hair behind my ear. “It betrayed him and passed out of knowledge. That is the reason for the White Council. The elves were there. They remember. They know exactly how dangerous that Ring is. They know Sauron can return with it, and his evil will claim these lands.”

“I’m not rightly seeing what this might have to do with us,” Bofur said as he, too, was freed in turn. 

I opened my mouth, ready to blurt out everything. A lone, functioning brain cell put the kibosh on that. To Thorin, “If I tell you the rest, all of you will be in danger. So I informed the Elvenking, and so I tell you now. Your line is already in danger, Thorin. Azog is not the worst of it. _He_ wants the line of Durin gone.” With every word, Thorin’s expression darkened. “If I tell you what I know, it paints a bigger target on your back. All of your backs,” I told the Company. “Because in the future, if things go according to the stories, he will be defeated. Imagine what would happen if he discovered someone knew how that came about.”

“He’ll kill you.” 

At Aleks’s words, I faced him for the first time. He actually looked pale. Confused and resentful, I nodded, white-lipped. “He’ll torture anyone with this knowledge.” Back to Thorin. “It is why the royal family here is taking steps to make certain they do not possess it. It is too dangerous.”

“Cowards,” more than one dwarf muttered.

“No,” I argued. “No, it is prudence. You don’t understand just how dangerous he is. The Ring can whisper thoughts into a person’s mind. It manipulates and seduces. Boromir of Gondor will be one of the noblest men to walk these lands of his generation, yet the Ring will single him out. It will almost destroy him, and it _will_ cause him to betray an oath he swore to defend another weaker than himself. And he won’t even wear it! Don’t you see? It corrupts all it touches. Everything in its vicinity is at risk. No one can be trusted with it. And it only holds a fraction of Sauron’s power.”

Appealing to Thorin, I said, “Events during your quest set the stage for success later. Smaug _must_ fall.” Mutters arose. Before they could ask, I answered, “Yes, he’s alive. Very much so.” I began to pace before Thorin’s cell, fingers knotted together. My eyes searched out one member of the Company in particular. “Something happens with Bilbo that must happen. I promise you, Bilbo is not supposed to be injured or die. Above everyone, he has to survive all of this.”

“Me?” the hobbit squeaked.

“Yes, you,” I told him. “Hobbits, with the help of a few individuals from the other peoples, will save the world. It will be a hobbit that--” Mental brakes. Good grief, what was I doing? If Sauron heard that, the entire Shire would burn tomorrow. Where, pray tell, had that lone neuron gone? I mentally smacked myself upside the head. 

Thorin leaned against his cell door with arms splayed. “While my future is to rot within this dungeon?” he asked in a hard voice.

“No,” I immediately denied. “If things had happened according to what was foreseen on my world, Bilbo would have acquired an object that allows him to move about undetected. Invisible. Don’t you see? _He is supposed to rescue you all._ That object lets him escape Smaug. He has to have it.” 

Not to mention he was the only one who could safely possess it. 

“Your escape is supposed to happen in less than three weeks. Three, Thorin! I have that much time to get Bilbo back to Goblin Town, get the object, and get him back here.”

“Back to _Goblin Town?”_ Bilbo gaped.

Thorin shut down, a stubborn refusal written upon his face for all to see. “What could possibly be important enough to risk Bilbo’s life? No, Mistress Hunt, events have already been altered. To return to the goblin nest when they are riled is the height of foolishness. There is no guarantee of his safety. Nor _yours,_ I might add. I will not send members of my Company to their deaths. Such a plan of action is too dangerous,” he said, lowering the boom but not without sympathy. To the Company, “We will arrange our escape without risking our burglar.”

“Thorin,” I tried.

He immediately cut me off with a firm, “No. Books are not fact, and the future is what we make of it. You say Bilbo will need this object, but I say, with what you know, there will be another way to wring victory from the future.”

Bofur materialized at my side, Bombur right behind him. The younger toymaker nudged his odd hat higher upon his head. “So that’s it then? We stay here?”

Thorin shook his head. “No. We leave.”

_Oh. No._

One by one the dwarves freed themselves from their prisons while I lurked in the background. Aleks shot me sad-looking glances a few times (to which I scowled back), and Bofur and Bombur checked on me, too, but the dwarves quickly got down to business, discussing their escape. Aleks piped up with what he’d learned. 

So. That was it then. Bilbo would not go to the Ring. It was hunting actively for another Bearer, and if Bilbo wasn’t there, it would make its way onto a goblin’s finger soon enough. 

_I made it worse._

Dare I tell them? With so many in this room, how could I? Thorin would succumb to dragon sickness. Who knew what he’d do with the information when under the influence of that illness? Or Gloin, whose son would be directly impacted? 

I needed help, but I didn’t know what to do. Who in this world could I ask? 

A name popped into my head like a cartoon light bulb. Without a word, I snuck from the dungeon and left the dwarves behind.

OoOoOo

“No, it’s heavily guarded,” Aleks told Thorin. “The main gate is out. We might as well lock ourselves back into those cages for all the good it would do.”

The dwarf king tucked his thumbs into his belt, his chin low to the chest. “If Bilbo was supposed to aid our escape, there must be another way.” His head lifted. “Mistress Hunt?” 

A horrible feeling stole over Aleks when the answer was not immediately forthcoming. Thorin turned in a circle, and Aleks whispered, “Oh, Daph, what did you do?”

Bofur headed for the stairs, Bombur, Fíli and Kíli right behind.

“Hold.” 

Bofur halted, one foot on the lowest step. “We cannot be leaving her,” he said. 

When Thorin did not immediately answer, Aleks felt pinpricks skitter up his spine. “Thorin,” he appealed.

“Aleks, we have little time to waste. Erebor is our destination. We must make our escape. If we remain here searching for your sister, we will be recaptured. The elves will not be so lax as to leave us unguarded a second time.”

“Aye, but the lass,” Bombur interjected. 

“She believes her books,” Thorin said. “This proves she will do whatever she thinks necessary to make them come true, and that puts us all at risk.”

“She risked the Elvenking’s wrath by freeing us,” Aleks argued. 

“I know that, Aleks,” Thorin said softly. “I do not feel comfortable with this decision, but it _is_ my decision to make.”

Aleks spun on a heel and planted one hand upon the stone wall between two cells, leaning into it with head bowed. _Daph, what are you doing?_ That was a stupid question. She believed they had to retrieve something from Goblin Town. If Thorin wouldn’t listen… “She’s going by herself,” he realized. 

“What was that, laddie?” Gloin asked. 

Pushing off the wall, Aleks frowned at his friends. “I said she’s going for it herself. Whatever that object is that’s so all-fired important to Bilbo, she’s going to try for it.”

“Alone?” Ori asked with brows high, his young face horrified at the idea. He turned to Dori. “We can’t let her do that. Can we?” 

If anything, Thorin appeared ready to spit nails, glowering at the walls around them as if they could produce Aleks’s twin. 

Aleks empathized. What was she _thinking?_ Anger faded, replace by a sense of inevitability. “She won’t be alone,” Aleks said, his heart breaking. These guys were his family. But he couldn’t let Daphne go by herself. She’d stuck up for them in spite of her obvious affection for the Elvenking. He would do the same in return. Bottom line: he owed it to her. For what he’d done. For what she’d done. “I’m going after her.”

He didn’t wait for their response. He bolted up those stairs, his satyr side fully dominant. Hooves would make the going more dangerous in some aspects, but his enhanced senses should more than make up for it. He roused every cat, rodent, and bird he could reach, directing them to find and follow his twin. It was challenging – he’d never tried to keep an open link to so many at once – but he held to it with sheer cussedness. 

At the top of the stairs, he hung a right. First stop, the armory he’d scouted previously. He was done with being unarmed.

Aleks discovered his bow in a pile of mismatched, discarded gear in the armory along with the Company’s possessions. He could hear the dwarves making their way after him, so he hurried to snatch up a bedroll, a water bag, and a couple quivers of arrows from the elves’ supplies. 

_Thank you, don’t mind if I do._ Before darting back out the door, he filched a second bow. The way he was burning through them, he’d probably need it. 

The dwarves’ energy signatures were near. They would find the armory on their own. He ducked out of sight around another corner before they spotted him, not willing to be ordered away from his intended task. With a quick check on his animal spies, Aleks made a beeline towards the massive, living wall that surrounded the city.

OoOoOo

Thorin glared at everything and nothing as his Company donned their weapons and armor. _By Durin, Aleks._ The naiad had left too quickly for any to intervene. Kíli kept glancing Thorin’s way as if to check for signs that he’d changed his mind.

How he wished he could, but this was their one chance at Erebor. He could appreciate Daphne’s driving need to see the future play out as it “should”, for she likely believed the books to be fact, not a depiction of one among myriad ways events could unfold. Who was to say that her path was superior to another? 

Aleks, too, he understood, and by his beard, he was proud of the lad. He’d not only recanted his previous cruelty to his sister, he’d stepped up to protect her. 

Ah, but Goblin Town? _Suicide, it is._ Thorin claimed a weapon from the elves’ stockpile, burning in resentment to have lost Orcrist. _Thranduil labels **me** thief. What did you do with my sword, elf?_ He growled low in his throat. _Cursed elves._ How, he asked himself again, had the Elvenking gotten his foul hands upon Aleks’s sister? 

“Thorin.” Thorin was surprised to find it was Nori who approached him first. He knew none of his dwarves were happy with his decision, and he’d been biding his time, waiting for Bofur or Bombur to broach the subject. Those two especially felt the weight of his decree. _As do I._ Thorin was none too happy with the options before him, either.

“What is it?” He faced his distant kinsman, giving him his full attention. 

“Well, see, it’s like this. The naiads will need a thief.”

Nori’s wish to go after them did not surprise him. What did take him aback was his willingness to aid them in securing whatever object Mistress Hunt was after. That attempt would put whoever was involved directly in harm’s way. More, Dori stood in the background, witnessing each word his younger brother uttered without protest. 

“They will need a hunter more,” Kíli burst in. “Uncle, I could easily catch up with them.” Thorin stared at his nephew. Kíli’s appeal had been passionate, and that passion, Thorin finally conceded, was matched by the fire in almost all his dwarves’ eyes. The only two souls not eager to set out for Goblin Town were himself and Balin. He saw reflected in Balin’s face the same knowledge that haunted him, the knowledge of how such a venture would inevitably end. 

Thorin scrubbed his face. “We do nothing so long as we are trapped within this wretched kingdom,” he said at last. Before any could misunderstand, he raised a hand. “Erebor will not wait. _If_ we escape, I will send only some of you. _And,”_ he stressed, once more cutting off objections, “I will make the decision of who will go.”

His dwarves shuffled around, and Thorin noted a lot of looks passing among them. At last, they nodded in agreement.

“Now then, let us find a way out of this place.”

“Where’s Bilbo?” Bofur asked.

Thorin froze. A sinking sensation spread through his gut. “When was he last seen?” he demanded.

OoOoOo

“How do you intend to locate Mistress Daphne?”

Aleks would have jumped out of his boots had he been wearing them. Spinning towards the familiar voice, he hissed, “Bilbo, what are you doing here?”

The hobbit rocked upon his heels, thumbs hitched in his vest pockets. “I should think that would be obvious. Miss Daphne believes I must claim this item and is placing herself in danger on my behalf.” His gaze slid beyond Aleks to the sprawling, night-darkened gardens around them. “I’d count myself the worst kind of coward to not aid her.” Softer, his attention once more returning to Aleks, he asked, “Do you believe her? That this item is so important?” 

Aleks shook his head and resumed his trek through the gardens, keeping to the darkest of shadows with his animal spies on the lookout for unfriendly eyes. “To answer your first question, yes, I know where she is, and we need to catch up quickly. She’s going to make a way past the walls.”

Bilbo’s softer footfalls trailed after him as he jogged towards where she’d been spotted by an old tom cat. “Past them? They look to be well nigh impenetrable.” 

Aleks allowed himself a tiny smile. “You forget. She’s a dryad. Trees love dryads. And yes, I believe her. Something has got her spooked, so this thing she’s so insistent about? It has to be major important later.”

“She might have told Thorin more.”

Agreed. Aleks understood her reasoning, but the dwarves wouldn’t go bandying about the details of the future, not when they had some idea what was at stake. Aleks had no idea what a dark lord was, but by the dwarves’ reactions, it was beyond bad. 

They caught up with his sister as she led a compact bay horse through a gap that had appeared in the thick, interlocking tangle of tree limbs forming the city’s wall. He rushed through the small crack after her, Bilbo huffing beside him. They dove through just in time to prevent the trees from locking them inside as the break sealed itself. To his shock, he found himself in a spot of health in a sea of sickly forest. This section felt _clean._

“Aleks,” a female voice hissed. 

Aleks braced himself for a fight. “We’re coming with you,” he said, lifting his chin. Bilbo planted himself at his side, thumbs tucked into his vest pockets and a resolute expression on his face. 

Daphne didn’t so much as glance at the hobbit. “Oh no, you’re not,” she growled. “Do you think I’d trust _you_ to have my back? Travel with you? Do I look stupid? I still have the knife in my back from the last time I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

“I know, and I’m s--”

“Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry!” she shrieked. “You aren’t sorry. _I have no sister,”_ she mimicked bitterly. “What I wished I’d known then is that you weren’t just spouting off words, but that you really did want me pushing up daisies and would do anything to see it done!” By now she was shouting with all her lung power.

Aleks darted a nervous glance at the wall behind them. “I don’t want you d--”

_“Get out of my life, Aleks!_ Leave, and you never have to lay eyes upon me again. Just turn around. Go back to your new life and leave--”

He clapped a hand over her mouth and hissed for silence, dragging her behind the nearest tree and whispering horse-speak for her mount to get out of sight. Bilbo responded with alacrity, vanishing behind the nearest healthy bush. Daphne ceased struggling as voices drifted over from behind the wall. Elvish voices. 

“Now,” he whispered in her ear, “if this thing really is so important, the time for screaming has passed. Or do you want to go back and forget about it altogether?” Green eyes exactly like his own glared up at him, the fury in them growing, not abating as he’d hoped. 

_Fool’s hope._ If she’d pulled the trick he had, he would never have forgiven her. That realization was a kick in the pants, one that made his mouth go dry. She had to forgive him. He had to make this right.

She tore free and hissed, “I don’t want you here.”

She’d made that abundantly clear. _She’ll_ get over it, he assured himself with growing determination. “Tough,” he said, latching onto her wrist and dragging her deeper into the woods, whispering for the horse to follow. “Bilbo,” he called. 

The small man seemed to pop out of nowhere, joining them.

“Aleks,” Daphne growled.

He whirled on her. “Do you want to fix this or not? Because a dryad cannot send animals into that cave system to find this object. You cannot wield a weapon. What did you plan to do? Ask the nice goblins to hand it over, pretty please?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “I sent a message through the trees to Radagast.”

He rocked back. Really? That brown-robed idiot of a wizard? 

Her finger appeared under his nose like a pistol barrel. “Don’t you dare insult him.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Not now, anyway. He was not stupid.

She shoved past him and trail-blazed, her steps pounding into the earth like sledgehammers. Was she _trying_ to leave a trail? She paused so suddenly, every alarm rang out inside his mind. He jerked an arrow into place in his bow, the string taunt. Quickly scanning the black woods around them, he failed to see any threat. Bilbo stood on her other side, his fists wrapped around a pair of elvish daggers. 

So Bilbo had filched a few weapons himself. The hobbit never ceased to impress him. 

Daphne faced him, a look of distaste wrinkling her nose and twisting her lips. _It’ll get better,_ he told himself. It would. She’d tried to mend things for almost a decade. She wouldn’t turn her back on him now, no matter how furious she was.

She sighed unhappily. “Look” she said, radiating resentment, “can you send a message by bird?” 

He blinked. She was asking him for something. That was good…right?

She hastened to explain, “We need Beorn.”

“Beorn? The skin-changer?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes,” she said. “We need to pick his brain.” 

The hobbit almost fell over, and Daphne looked aghast as she realized what she’d said. Aleks smothered a grin, rubbing his lower face. 

“We need to _ask him questions,”_ she amended, flapping her hands. “Just ask him questions. Scout’s honor.” She even saluted, though if she’d been trying for the Boy Scout’s salute, she’d missed the mark. 

“Pick his brain?” Bilbo repeated, blinking and head moving jerkily as he mused over the words. “You have very strange ways of expressing yourselves. Picking his brain.” 

Aleks grinned at the hobbit before he again scrutinized the treetops. “Yeah, we do, Bilbo, and it’s not just naiads. Pretty much everyone speaks like us back ho— Er, back on Earth.” He hastily changed the subject. “What is the message exactly, Daph?”

“Tell him to meet us at the Western Gate into Mirkwood. Tell him it’s important, and ‘Little Sister’ needs his help.”

His lips quirked. An opening. _Treat her as if the last nine years didn’t happen,_ a desperate part of him insisted. He grabbed onto it, willing to try anything. He had to get through her anger. Forcing a casual tone, he said, “So that’s why he started calling me Little Brother the instant he clapped eyes on me. While we’re on the subject, tarring Santa’s rep? That’s foul, Daph. Really foul.”

“He wouldn’t stop pestering me,” she said defensively.

“The _Macarena?_ And _Achy Breaky Heart?_ Did you have to taint Middle Earth with country western line dances?” 

Her mouth formed words that never emerged, fish-like. Aleks refused to let the burning ache filling him to materialize upon his face. At the same time, he wanted to smile – the Ice Princess sure had vanished, and he for one couldn’t be happier. How could he get through to her if she was locked down like Fort Knox? 

At last, she squeaked, “What about the _Macarena?_ I’ve never danced it in my life.”

Aleks crooked a smile at her. “Well, you must have seen it at some point, because you demonstrated the whole thing to him. Remind me to never get you drunk. What you come up with is scary.”

Her cheeks heated to a fire engine red, and she turned her attention to the horse. Her nonchalance had to be feigned. “What else happened?” she asked in a small voice.

Aleks threw her a sympathetic look, but it backfired. She looked all the more disconcerted. “He wouldn’t say.” A lopsided grin slipped past his guard. “But I’d love to be around when you meet him next. Why, exactly do we need him? He’s not exactly stealthy.”

Now she did close down. What he’d said to set her off, he hadn’t a clue, but resentment radiated off of her like a nuclear power plant in full meltdown. Her hands reflexively fisted and relaxed. “Beorn knows that region like the back of his hand. His people were driven out of those mountains. If there is anyone who might know of a back door, he’d be it.”

_Good thought._ Pursing his lips, he nodded. “I’ll get a messenger.” She pressed up against one of the healthy trees, probably for solace, and he turned his attention upwards. Songbirds would work in a pinch, but he wanted something bigger. Faster.

Bilbo struck up a hushed conversation with Daphne. Aleks hoped the hobbit’s presence would ease tensions. _Help me out here, Bilbo._ For a second there, they’d almost had, like, a real conversation, the first in years. He knew intellectually that things would not be fixed between them quickly, but a part of him grew impatient. As if a part of him believed that because he’d made that adjustment to heal the breach between them, she should, too. Like on demand. Idiotic, but there it was.

His mind provided in Yoda’s sage voice, _Patience, you must have._ Not his strong suit. _You must unlearn what you have learned._ He shook his head at himself. _Yeah, thanks a bunch, pal._ Easier to say than do and all that.

_Jackpot._ A healthy Great Grey Owl hunted far above the tree tops, its eyes fixed upon a rabbit foraging around on the forest floor off to Aleks’s left. He connected with it swiftly and made his request. The gray head panned in his direction. Curiosity and interest fluttered through the animal, then assent. It knew Beorn and would convey his message. 

A smile stretched across Aleks’s face. “Got it. Message sent.”

A myriad of expression crossed over her face before she said grudgingly, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He was about to add that it was the least he could do, but he bit back the words. He needed her relating to him. Bringing up what he’d done would only destroy things before he got any groundwork laid. 

She eyed him, suspicious. 

“I want to help,” he said, his hand coming to the horse’s neck in a soft pat. “You said this has to happen to save Middle Earth. At least trust that I wouldn’t let any harm come to Thorin or the Company. That includes Bilbo. I count him my friend.”

Her lips flattened, and she directed her attention towards the hobbit as she patted the horse’s nose. The animal lipped her fingers.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Her gaze slid his way, hard as chipped diamonds. “Okay. You’re right. I need help. But if you are coming, you need to know what is at stake. I don’t trust you with me, but I know you won’t do anything to harm your companions. Bilbo?”

The hobbit’s head inched upwards.

“Thank you. Thank you for believing me. I don’t think I would have survived this intact without you.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Bilbo said after exchanging a long glance with Aleks. “I will help any way I can, of course. But I do not have Nori’s skills as a thief nor Thorin’s expertise with a sword.”

Aleks was about to interject with some encouragement when the strangest expression crossed his sister’s face. “No, Bilbo, you have neither of those. You have something rarer. Something pure and precious.”

Aleks hid a smile as his small friend blinked in confusion, his hands again dipped into his vest pockets. “You wouldn’t be teasing me now, Mistress Daphne, would you?”

“No, my friend. I’m not teasing.” Her soft smile turned wicked. “Courage. Isn’t that what you told Gandalf before he departed? That you’d found your courage in the Misty Mountains?”

Even Aleks missed a stride as she led the horse to a fallen tree. That hadn’t happened, and he’d been right next to Gandalf when the wizard had issued his farewells. 

“I don’t recall ever saying such a thing,” Bilbo said with a huge dollop of tact. 

Her smile vanished and that worried, freaked-out expression returned. “No. I guess you didn’t.”

“Daph, what exactly are we after?”

She nibbled on her lower lip as she gestured Bilbo to mount. Bilbo hoisted himself up onto the bay’s back with ginger care. 

“I suppose you two will need to know.” Coming to a decision, she nodded shortly. “Okay, I’ll fill you in. And maybe the two of you can help me figure out how to save Thorin’s life without throwing the whole time-line off.”

_Thorin?_

Yeah, Aleks determined, his face tight. He would. There was no way he was letting anything happen to his dwarves. Especially not Thorin. 

The three mounted - Bilbo in front, Aleks in the saddle, and Daphne riding behind him. As she began to tell them what she knew of how things were supposed to play out, Aleks urged to horse to an easy canter westward.


	24. A Tempest

### Chapter 23

Thranduil clasped his hands behind him, his face devoid of expression. Inwardly, wind smashed through the forest of his mind, ripping foliage from branches and wrenching the trees from their moorings. He’d never felt such emotional upheaval. The chaotic tumult had kept him from sleep the entire night.

He’d underestimated his adversary. A youngling’s mistake, and one he bitterly regretted now. Decades, he’d fought off this nameless entity’s corruptive whispers, recognizing the threat but not realizing the depth of his peril. He’d believed he’d brought his foe to a standstill. It could not progress deeper into the core of his kingdom, the very Halls themselves, yet he could not drive it from his beloved Greatwood. 

_Sauron._ Now identified, and only a heartbeat before his foe revealed just how outmatched Thranduil was. What he’d assumed in his ignorance to be his enemy’s best attempts to conquer land and sovereign were nothing more than the half-hearted swipes of a lazy, bored cat. 

The cat, it seemed, was hungry now. Voraciously so.

“What has changed?” he murmured to himself as he watched a shy little sparrow flit among the bushes. It brought his ward to mind. His thoughts had weighed heavily upon her all night, too. What had changed? 

“She worries you, doesn’t she?” he continued in the same low voice. “You don’t know what a naiad is. You do not know what she is capable of. And you, my constant nemesis, do not tolerate unknowns.” 

_“Adar?”_

Thranduil tilted slightly to one side, not pulling his gaze from the sun-kissed gardens sprawling outside his study window. He’d not heard Caranoran’s entrance. Already, the increased attacks upon him were taking a toll. Anger burned through him, anger that tried to find a target. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the volatile mix of emotions pass. He would not allow Sauron to goad him into turning upon his son. “Yes, ion nin?”

“What disturbs you?” 

Thranduil found a small smile to offer his youngest, and tallest, child. “My Caranoran. Ever eager to shoulder my burdens.” 

Somber green eyes met his unflinching. Such mesmerizing eyes, he’d always thought. Their shade was unmatched by any in Thranduil’s long existence. 

His son spoke, his words fervent: “I would shoulder more if you would but grant it.”

_They undermine you._ A spurt of distrust and suspicion. _None can be trusted to assume your duties._

_“Ada?”_ His son’s scrutiny sharpened, and his hand alighted upon Thranduil’s shoulder. 

Sauron forced emotions upon him, and Thranduil was not certain how long he could stem the increasing tide. 

_I am become dangerous._ He was the Elvenking. He’d been dangerous for centuries. This, however, was different. He could become a danger to his family. To his people. 

A spurt of resentment, one Sauron included with the sense of Hwinneth as detected through the tree-bond. 

A bitter smile. _Ah, yes. I expected that._ The enemy would do everything in his power to turn Thranduil against her. _I will not allow it._

“I have missives here for Lord Arveldir on my desk. See that they are presented to him at once.” 

_“Adar-”_ Caranoran halted at his stern look of reproach. “Of course, _Adar.”_ His silver-haired son bowed shortly and strode for the door, his silent steps slowing when a knock preceded the entrance of a very rumpled-looking Guard Belegon. 

The elf had never been as diligent in maintaining a perfect uniform as his fellows, but to Thranduil’s assessing eye, Belegon looked more wrinkled than normal. Belegon’s lips were pinched into a single white slash, and his blue eyes were pools of self-recrimination.

Thranduil’s temper sharpened at that observation. Recrimination implied error. This _ellon_ had charge of his new daughter. He would not tolerate failure where his family was concerned, he would punish any who—

_No._ He smothered the vicious stream of dark thoughts and walked to his desk, leaning upon the front surface. “Belegon,” Thranduil greeted. “You were assigned to my foster daughter, were you not?”

The elf dropped to one knee, head bowed. “I take full responsibility, my liege.”

Fury. Thranduil rocked under an assault unseen and unmarked by the _ellyn_ around him. The Elvenking’s face remained smooth, untainted.

Caranoran halted in the doorway and turned toward the guard, his deep green eyes intense. Thranduil flicked a finger. Long familiarity ensured his son received his silent permission to stay and observe. Caranoran slipped to the side and leaned upon a whimsical bookshelf, the piece an oddity ill fitting with the rest of the room. Thranduil would never remove it, for it was a gift from his second son when Legolas had toyed with the idea of carpentry as his life’s passion. 

That was before he’d discovered the bow, of course. Thranduil’s lips never twitched, but the memory warmed him and warded away the dark thoughts swarming through him.

He directed his attention back to his apologetic guard. He trusted Belegon as he trusted few. The elf had distinguished himself centuries before when he’d thrown himself between Caranoran and certain death, earning himself the disfiguring scars marring the right side of his face at the same time. No matter what this guard might confess, Thranduil had no doubt but that he’d done all he could to see his duties done. 

Yet that miasma of suspicion remained. Planted by Sauron, it touched all around him whether Thranduil agreed with its poisonous imprecations or not.

He ignored the charged, wild emotions blowing through him and reasoned. That Belegon had been charged with Hwennith’s wellbeing was cause for concern, but Thranduil felt confident that if aught was truly amiss, he would know it. His dryad would call for him through the trees. 

“That does not give me much to go on, I’m afraid. Tell me, Guard Belegon. What has happened?” He leaned back upon his desk and refrained from permitting the elf to rise. Just because he was fond of this _ellon_ did not mean he would tolerate disrespect or ignore formalities. 

Legolas did not yet understand the necessity of such things as protocol and etiquette, but Thranduil had learned long ago the importance of such. Allow your subjects to treat you too casually, and it undermined your authority. He could not allow that, especially not with the Dark Lord rising, besieging his lands and his mind. 

“Sire,” Belegon said, lifting his chin until his scarred face came into view. “Lady Hwinneth is missing.”

Thranduil stilled. “Go on.”

“She asked to see you in the late hours of the night.”

“Why then do I not recall such a visit, Guard Belegon?” he interrupted calmly. Behind the guard, Caranoran adopted a frown dark enough to threaten a torrential downpour complete with gale-force winds. As dire as that promised, what buffeted through Thranduil made it look like an afternoon shower. 

“Sire,” the guard said, and Thranduil’s anger climbed though his frown never reached his lips. Belegon continued, “Lady Hwinneth met with Weaponsmaster Halon and Captain Badhron last eve.”

“This I know, Guard Belegon. I commanded it. What I have yet to hear is why my daughter is missing, and why she failed to reach me last night,” he hissed, the anger winning free as his patience eroded. 

With it, _his_ voice came through the forests. _Insolence cannot be tolerated. They betray you. They are not loyal to you._

Only his son’s startled change of focus drove home just how sinister his voice had become. It chilled him. A brief lapse, but he’d lost control. The corrupt sludge pouring in though his forest-bond was having its effect. 

He thickened his mental barriers and pulled back from the forest, reeling in his mental fingers. He could not completely withdraw, not without catastrophic results. But a prudent man knew when to minimize his risks. 

_You will not win so easily,_ he promised his foe, the sentiment kept private behind his thickest barriers. 

_He wants Hwinneth._ Sauron had no idea the knowledge Hwinneth possessed. Thranduil was certain of the fact. Yet, the Dark Lord had intensified his assaults and tried to sow seeds of distrust most heavily where she was concerned. 

_I will not falter._ So much at stake. His daughter and the very future of Arda all hinged upon preventing that one from realizing just what a fount of information Thranduil’s Hwinneth would be. 

Deep inside, even as he steeled himself, he feared. _What if he should succeed?_ Pride refused to believe it possible, yet the father never took chances with those who were his to protect. How? How to protect Hwinneth?

The question was moot. She was missing. At the moment, she was not his to protect. 

When no immediate answer was forthcoming from his penitent guard, Thranduil felt his control slipping. His frustration elevated another notch. 

If Belegon forbade Hwinneth access to him, it was certainly out of character. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed upon the mute _ellon._ Belegon was quick to accept responsibility for his actions. That he was silent implied he’d acted under orders, and the only _ellon_ Belegon would never utter a word against would be his mentor, Badhron. 

A young Belegon had lost all family when a band of orcs had raided one of the Greatwood’s villages. Badhron had adopted the young _ellon_ and provided him a way to win free of the resultant fears that had hounded him through rigorous training. The young elf had so taken to his instruction, he’d never stopped from his single-minded pursuit to master any weapon to come to his attention.

No, Belegon would not speak a word that might be construed as criticism for his captain. Just as the guard would never allow criticism to be leveled upon any of the royal family. 

Thranduil waited. The guard had more to say, but he was choosing his words. Caranoran’s silver brows waggled. Thranduil again flicked one finger. 

“Sire, Lady Hwinneth sprayed a liquid into my face. That is the last thing I recall prior to waking upon her floor with a foreign book in my hands.” He reached back and withdrew a glossy, rectangular object from his hip pouch. Thranduil inspected it as the guard continued. “She left a note begging for my assistance and instructions on how to view the contents of the…book.”

Thranduil turned the white object this way and that. It bore little resemblance to a book. He saw neither words nor any pages to turn. 

Suspicion. Disgust.

He stifled the feelings. With his wood-bond so thinned, how did the Dark Lord yet hold such sway over him? He had, indeed, underestimated his foe. 

_Fileg, where did you go?_ What else has gone amiss? Her time-line, that precious thing she held so sacrosanct, must have been damaged worse than he’d suspected. _Where are you, penneth?_ “Have the dwarves been checked?” 

“That was my first stop, sire. The prisoners are free. I alerted Captains Badhron and Tauriel both. Prince Legolas himself ordered a search of the grounds.”

_Betrayal._ Violent emotions stampeded over him, battering him as he stood in their path, refusing to give them voice. 

“And this book?” Thranduil finally allowed the frown to appear on his face and gestured the guard to stand before walking around his desk and claiming his seat. “What did you learn, Belegon?”

“My lord,” Belegon said, each word hesitant and concerned. “I did not spare sufficient time to do more than glean a general idea of what Lady Hwinneth fears. It is about the--”

Thranduil’s hand flashed in the air, cold fear drowning out the angry voice in his head. He could not hear this. “Be very careful of what you speak, Guard Belegon.” His set the white object down upon his desk as his other hand dropped to the arm of his chair and tapped out what he hoped the _ellyn_ interpreted as a reflective pattern. Only he knew how much his control hanged by a thread. He found the repetitious act soothing. 

Even that was suspect. He’d never been one to fidget. His fingers halted and folded together to rest upon the glossy desk. “I am aware my daughter has knowledge of future events.” Caranoran startled, his eyes flying to him. Thranduil continued, “I have limited such knowledge to prevent my family members from endangerment. Have you the information I suspect you possess, I trust you will exercise extreme discretion with what you have learned. I cannot be apprised of specifics. You know why.”

“Yes, sire.”

He would not say more with his son listening in. To Caranoran, “Summon Captain Badhron to me. Then you may deliver that missive.”

_“Ada,”_ his son ventured. “Is Hwinneth in danger?”

That, he thought, was the question. And unlike the previous one, this he freely answered. “Yes, _ion nin._ I believe so,” he said, nodding when his son grew more pensive. “She did not call for me. Take comfort in that.”

Caranoran left to do his bidding, and Thranduil studied the guard before him. If Hwinneth had been compelled to seek help outside of those he’d specified, she could not have chosen better. “From what you read, Belegon,” he said, dropping formality at last, his tone gentling, “does the situation warrant such action? Is my daughter correct to rush off in an attempt to fix this deviation?”

Belegon studied the floor for long minute before nodding his head. “Yes, my liege. She is.” Then, as if unable to contain himself any longer, he rushed, “But she is not equipped to handle this. I know where she is headed: Goblin Town. She cannot possibly navigate the caves riddling the Misty Mountains without guidance and protection. If not for--” His words slammed to a halt and his jaw moved reflexively.

Thranduil’s self-control again threatened to develop a crack. He rubbed his forehead with one finger. 

Belegon frowned at the telling action. “My liege?” 

He considered the _ellon_ before him soberly. “The attacks increase, my young friend.” Before the guard could do more than begin to feel surprise at the uncharacteristic confidence, Thranduil continued. “He tries to turn me against those I hold most dear. I have withdrawn all I dare from the woods without endangering my link.”

“What would you have of me?” the guard asked immediately. 

Thranduil offered him a wintry smile. Ironically, to protect Hwinneth, it seemed best if she remained as far from him as possible. But to save himself, he suspected he would need his new daughter’s aid. 

“As of this moment, nothing.” He changed the subject. “Hwinneth would not have hied off alone if not for the failure of the two counselors I appointed to heed her,” he said, his tone intentionally mild. Determinedly so. “Do not look so surprised. I should have foreseen this. Captain Badhron is loyal beyond question, but like my eldest son and heir, his obligations require him to anticipate threats where none may exist. The fault is mine.” He only hoped his foster daughter came to no harm due to his misjudgment. 

“What I don’t understand is why she freed the dwarves,” Belegon said. “Majesty, they are not supposed to escape for weeks yet. She knows this. If the future is so tenuous, why would she alter something so key?”

_She freed the dwarves,_ a voice too much akin to Thranduil’s own hissed with venom, the stream of fury finding an avenue down which to flow. _Betrayal. Defiance of my will._

No. 

The dwarves fated to escape, yet Hwinneth freed them before the proper time. Why indeed? The only answer: for aid. 

His door opened, and Legolas strode in. _“Adar,_ the dwarves have been captured attempting escape.”

“Was Hwinneth with them?” Thranduil asked.

Surprise flared within Legolas’s eyes. “Hwinneth? She’s missing?” His gaze speared Belegon.

“Yes, my prince,” the guard responded stiffly.

“Relax, Belegon, none will condemn you for this. You have informed me that Hwinneth rendered you unconscious. The blame is not yours.”

“She did what?” Legolas asked, his surprise growing. 

Thranduil smiled. “I did say she was not lacking in spine.”

Legolas’s lips twitched. “You did not need to tell _me_ that, _Ada._ I saw the target she demolished. It is Gellamon who doubts.” More seriously, “What do you wish me to do with the dwarves?”

_Hang them._

No. Thranduil stood and paced across the room, headed for the door and hands clasped behind him. “Are any missing?” He kept his tone light.

“No,” Legolas answered immediately. “None of the dwarves. The halfling, however, was not found among them. But, _Ada.”_

Thranduil paused at his son’s worried tone. “Yes?”

“The other naiad is missing, too.”

Rage. “Bring me Thorin Oakenshield.”

OoOoOo

Thranduil rubbed aching temples as the dwarf was shoved none-too-gently into his study. His confrontation with Badhron had gone as ill as he’d feared it would. The stodgy _ellon_ had sounded more like the Dark Lord’s insidious whispers than a calm adviser, and given Thranduil’s own chancy state of mind, the Elvenking counted himself fortunate that he’d managed to keep his sharper words unvoiced and his sword in its sheath.

Could the enemy be affecting more than just himself? Was it possible the press of the blighted woods around them provided the Dark Lord a subtle influence upon Thranduil’s people?

Thranduil dropped his hands and smoothed his face as the dwarf whirled around to glare at the guards, especially his middle son. 

“Prince Legolas?” Thranduil asked mildly. 

Legolas carried himself tightly, anger evident upon his face. “The dwarf attempted escape. Again.”

Despite himself, Thranduil’s lips twitched. The irony of the situation was not wasted upon him. A people he had no love for, yet the wheels of fate seemed determined to force him to interact with them, and not with the disdain he preferred.

His rage knew no bounds, yet he needed the aid of this Thorin Oakenshield. The difficulty resided in how to secure Oakenshield’s assistance. How did he ensure the dwarf would not betray him or his foster daughter? Well he knew that dwarves could not be trusted to act with honor.

“Some might say that it is, _ion nin,_ the duty of a prisoner to attempt escape.” 

At his words, Thorin stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. Or, more likely, as if Thranduil was unstable enough to commandeer his son’s sword and lop off the dwarf’s head. Given the crimes of the dwarf’s race, a part of Thranduil enjoyed the image. Given Sauron’s influence, he enjoyed it much more than was comfortable. 

Another dark sea of rage flowed through him, and he shook it off with difficulty. _The attacks are worsening by the minute._ He had to act while he still could with any rationality. He feared for his young, mortal Hwinneth should he falter before setting things in motion to protect her. She rode alone with no escort but a halfling and a satyr more inclined to slice her to bits and shove the pieces down her throat for her to choke upon. 

“If our presence is so offensive,” Thorin Oakenshield growled, “we would gladly take our leave.”

_Just as I would gladly see you gone._ Perhaps setting the dwarves free was the wisest course of action. He could ill afford the fury Oakenshield’s presence elicited. 

“Only after you have made reparations,” Legolas snapped. “Two _ellyn_ lie injured by your hand. How dare you--?”

“Legolas.”

His son’s brilliant blue glare beamed his way. 

“You are dismissed.”

_“Adar,_ I do not believe--”

“I need you to ready horses. Choose mounts suitable for smaller riders. They will need provisions for a week’s journey, possibly two. Include bedrolls.”

His son abandoned his ire as quickly as Thranduil had known he would. Legolas might share an elf’s hatred of dwarves, but he would not allow it to deter him from duty. 

_Ah, my Rinel. We are blessed in our sons._

“How many?” Legolas asked.

Thranduil debated for a heartbeat. “Ten. I should expect less necessary, but prepare ten to allow for leeway.”

_“Ada,”_ his son broached cautiously, curiosity placing a crease between his brows. “Does this have anything to do with Hwinneth?”

Thranduil waved him away. “That is all, Prince. No. Wait. Summon your elder brother to me first. Then see to the horses.”

As Legolas exited, Thranduil waved the other guards from the study as well. His personal Royal Guard frowned his displeasure, but Thranduil neglected to see it. The instant the door closed behind them, Thranduil turned his attention to the glowering dwarf standing in his travel-worn furs and homespun wool. Shabby and unkempt, this dwarf, yet his carriage was one of dignity and pride. 

Oakenshield’s eyes burned with hatred.

Well, such was to be expected. 

As he studied the dwarf, he wondered if Hwinneth was perhaps right in her assessment. Could this dwarf be cut from a different fabric altogether? _Ah, but don’t forget his bloodline. The line of Durin is weak and easily destroyed by their persistent need of riches._

Experience told him that Hwinneth was wrong. It pointed an accusatory finger at the damage Thror had wrought with his unfettered greed. Still, she trusted this dwarf and might not trust Thranduil’s own people after the reception she had received at his advisers’ hands. Too, if she had sought this dwarf’s assistance in correcting that which had gone wrong, it meant she’d confided in him about the future. 

Thranduil would not risk his family. Well did he remember what Sauron did to those he questioned. No, he would never consent to confiding in his loved ones. They would not be privy to the details of a future yet to be. 

He could not be certain Hwinneth would trust any elf to heed her but himself, and he could not learn of the future. To do so would be disastrous. He needed the dwarves. Some of them must accompany the party sent after his Hwinneth. He would quite willingly see them risk their necks, learning what those he sheltered would not. Honorable? With the fury surging through him, he thought perhaps not, but the dwarves were expendable. They could learn what they willed. He rather hoped they would place their necks under the knife willingly, but if they would not, he would force the issue. 

They _would_ assist his Hwinneth, and they _would_ see her safely returned. If Hwinneth was correct about Oakenshield’s character, the dwarf would see it done out of duty. If Oakenshield was more the creature of Thranduil’s estimation, he was quite prepared to force the lot of them using their king as leverage. 

_They are her friends._

It was not enough to deter him from this path. It was the only viable option to ensuring those he cared about were protected. 

Pain again speared through his temple. He frowned and gestured Oakenshield to a seat.

“I prefer to stand,” the dwarf said shortly, his hands about the thick belt at his waist. 

Ah, yes. Of course. _Never take the weak position, correct, dwarf?_ Perhaps Daphne was correct in one part, that Oakenshield really did believe his people the wronged party. 

_It can’t matter._

It had to.

_It can’t._ The same bloodline that had produced Thror had created this proud Oakenshield. Thranduil had no real hope the dwarf would meet any other end but that of dragon sickness or another form of madness. So far as Thranduil could see, the line of Durin was cursed. 

_Perhaps Hwinneth lied about Thorin for her own purposes._ No. No, that was not right. 

A new consideration: Oakenshield must have refused whatever request Hwinneth had put to him. Why? His jaw tightened, trapping venomous words. He could only try. By choosing this course, he did not reveal to any other her knowledge. Hwinneth would have informed Thorin of the threat they faced, would she not? 

“We have a mutual problem, Thorin Oakenshield,” he tested, waiting to see if recognition lit in those gray eyes. Sure enough, something flared to life. “You know of whom I speak.”

“If you believe, elf, that by conjuring fears of a monster from a dusty and half-forgotten past, you will compel me to set aside my wrath, you are mistaken. I will _never_ forget.”

Thranduil rubbed his brow, leaning into his desk. _He_ would never forget? _He?_ The dwarf had no inkling of how close he came to death as Thranduil swallowed his absolute outrage. 

He must resist. _I can hold,_ Thranduil told himself. Perhaps.

“Why did you not heed my daughter, Oakenshield?” he asked, ignoring the way rage bubbled up inside of him. Was it his or _his?_ The thin line became blurred, hazy.

Thorin paced a few steps to the side, his gaze heated from beneath lowered brows. “What concern is it of yours?”

Thranduil held his temper. “She was barred from me by one I trusted. She reached you. Yet here you stand, not at her side. Why?” Pain shafted through his head like filaments of lightning, branching and searing all they touched. 

“The future cannot be known. We make our own destiny,” Thorin said harshly. 

Ah. Finally something about which they agreed. Thranduil laughed once, the sound brittle and full of mockery for them both. “She needed you.”

The barb hit home. Thorin’s throat muscles tightened, but he held his stare, not once looking away. _Strength._ But enough strength to do what must be done? 

“I have a proposition for you,” Thranduil said, his voice taking on a slight quiver as he wrestled to remain untouched by the assault. He could not lose. If he did, Sauron would learn all about Hwinneth. She would be hunted as no other. 

“Not one gem of Erebor,” Thorin whispered passionately.

“That is not the proposition.” His hands fell to his sides, and he barely noted the thin-eyed scrutiny to which he was subjected.

“What trickery is this?” the dwarf said, the heat absent suddenly from his face and tone.

The Elvenking ignored him. A sudden knowledge flooded through the tree-bond as trees throughout Mirkwood screamed in warning. Sauron hunted Hwinneth. He’d unleashed his forces from the south - _Dol Guldur,_ Thranduil realized - emptying his barracks. What spurred Sauron on, it no longer mattered. “Belegon!” Thranduil called.

The elf materialized at his desk before the last syllable had been uttered. “Sire?” Worried blue eyes - cornflower blue, simple and unassuming as the elf himself, Rinel would say - rushed over him as if checking for damage. 

“I--” he could barely utter the words. “I falter.”

OoOoOo

Thorin watched with astonishment as the elf he’d hated for decades diminished before his eyes. He would have taken pleasure in each pain-filled wince to cross that white face if not for the look directed his way, pinning him where he stood. The darkness roiling within those hated eyes burned like the hottest forge.

“It is in your hands, Thorin Oakenshield. Yours and this guard’s. I pray you are as wise as my Hwinneth believes, and as noble, for all our sakes. He hunts her, dwarf. The trees call in warning. He has emptied Dol Guldur. His forces scour my woods for sign of her passage. He lays siege to my very mind in search of answers about her. Something has set him off. He screams for vengeance. For what, I know not.”

The guard’s swift inhale proclaimed he knew full well what had occurred. The Elvenking’s molten gaze never left Thorin. “Belegon?”

“Sire, Lady Hwinneth had naught to do with it,” the guard exclaimed. “The White Council must have acted. The necromancer has been driven from Dol Guldur.”

The Elvenking’s hands contorted like claws, biting into the wood beneath his fingers. The rage Thorin read upon the elf turned inward. “Elrond, you old fool.” Those eyes snapped back to him. “Do you understand what is at stake, dwarf? He is enraged and seeks to lash out in some way. He could not counter the White Council, so he turns his eye upon the one who has already drawn his notice. He knows full well she is protected by me. He has been thwarted twice already from claiming her through his pestilence. Should he find her, he will discover the information she carries.” Thranduil snarled, “And due to your refusal to act, her only shield is a halfling barely capable of wielding a sword and the self-same _brother_ who almost destroyed her.”

With every hissed word from the Elvenking’s lips, Thorin’s alarm and anger rose in tandem. He muttered under his breath, “Mahal.” 

What size of force did the Dark Lord have at his beck and call? Even should the Company ride in pursuit, thirteen dwarves - even had they been the most powerful dwarf warriors of all time - could do little if facing an entire army of orcs. 

“Aleks will not fail to defend her with his life’s blood,” he said, very much afraid that was exactly what would happen. His missing trio were in mortal danger and utterly unprepared for it. No guessing who the Elvenking referenced – it was the Dark Lord Sauron himself. At some point, Daphne must have told this elf the little she had confided to him. 

But where Thorin would go to the grave to safeguard her secrets, if he understood all aright, the Dark Lord was attempting to pull the information from the Elvenking’s very mind. 

How could such a thing be? Just as swiftly, _The Dark Lord defied the grave. What is there that he cannot do?_

The thought occurred to cut the elf down. End the threat. There was no love lost between them after the elf’s past treachery. Thorin’s eyes must have flickered for the Royal Guard took a protective step closer to his king, one hand upon the hilt of a sword. Thorin read the threat the guard did not voice.

He spared him a dark look. Thorin might wish ill on the Elvenking, but he’d never stoop to striking him down while the elf was incapacitated. To do so reeked of the grossest cowardice. He frowned at the guard before turning back to the ailing king.

“How will he hunt them?” Thorin asked. Daphne had mentioned scores of undead specters haunting Dol Guldur. Is that what his three faced?

Thranduil raked a hand through his hair, disturbing his crown. If Thorin hadn’t recognized how dire the situation was before, that telling action would have convinced him. 

“I do not know,” the Elvenking bit out, hands curling into tight fists upon which he leaned. “Wargs and riders, if he has any in the vicinity. Spiders have of old rallied to his call.”

The forests were swarming with them, Thorin thought. Did Aleks stand a chance of reasoning with the fell creatures? “What--” He cleared his throat, unable to believe the words next issuing forth from his own lips. “What do you suggest?”

The door burst open and another elf strode inside the chamber. Dressed in solid, dusky green clothing suited for hard use, Thorin would have dismissed the elf as inconsequential but for the mithril circlet upon his brow. The prince – for what else could the elf be, striding so boldly into the room? – headed to his father’s side, another elf trailing behind him. 

_“Adar?”_

The Elvenking’s attention left Thorin with visible difficulty. _He is enraged,_ Thorin thought, examining the despised elf closely. Fine tremors had claimed the tall, lithe body, and veins protruded from his brow. 

_“Adar.”_ The prince’s hand lifted, but Thranduil shied away with a violent twist. 

“Do not touch me,” he hissed. 

The son froze with arm outstretched. Thorin remained very still. The Elvenking moved like a serpent, his head undulating one way, then the other. 

_“Adar,”_ the son tried one more, his tone calm and correct.

Thranduil shuddered and inhaled deeply. “Gellamon. Heed me, _ion nin._ Above all, you must not come into contact with me or reinstate your link to the Wood. The enemy is more than we suspected.”

Thorin listened to each word, absorbing them as the prince straightened, his eyes hooding. “What has happened, my king?”

A minute smile appeared upon Thranduil’s thin lips, fleeting. “Now I am ‘king’?”

_“Ada,”_ the son reproached.

Thranduil again inhaled audibly and rubbed his brow, the strange body movements abating. “No. You are correct.” The Elvenking drew himself up. “I have orders for you, Prince. No time for questions. They can be addressed later. For the time being, I am placing the kingdom in your hands. You will rule in my stead.” 

Thorin wasn’t the only one to gasp. Thranduil, the greedy, power-hungry elf who’d cost him so much, was stepping down? Was this some trick for his benefit? _What would be the purpose?_

“Royal Guard Belegon and Oakenshield will be elevated as senior advisers.”

_What?_ By Mahal, had the world ended? 

“A _dwarf?”_

Thranduil’s hand cut through the air between them. “He is privy to information you do not have…” and as the son began to object, he continued, “…and you _will not learn._ This is an order, Prince. You are not to seek this knowledge. Belegon and Oakenshield alone will bear it. You, your mother and brothers are not to pursue this.”

_“Adar--”_

“No. You will heed me in this. The danger is real, and it is growing.” His gaze cut to Thorin. “I am trusting my daughter’s assessment above my own, Oakenshield. Understand, should you betray this trust, I will empty Mirkwood and hunt down all you hold dear. Do not for a moment doubt my words.”

Thorin went incandescent with rage. “I am not beholden to you, _elf.”_

“No, you are not. We will never be friends or allies in the truest sense,” the Elvenking said with a growl of his own. “But we do have a common enemy. The Dark Lord returns, King Under the Mountain.” The elf’s attention swung to his son. “Do not dare ask me of this.” Back to Thorin. “Both of our interests are best served to avert the disaster before us. You will decide the course of their rescue. I cannot trust my own judgment.”

Thorin began to see the elf’s intentions. Avoid risk to his own family by allowing his dwarves, _him,_ to bear it. He was using them. 

Thorin had thought his view of this elf could go no lower. He was wrong. Disgust mixed with the anger filling him. Worse, Thorin was trapped. The elf was right. The Dark Lord could not get his hands upon Daphne nor her two unprepared escorts. He’d do what needed doing, but by Durin, he’d make this elf pay for his high-handedness.

The prince interrupted. “You cannot be serious, _Ada.”_ At Thranduil’s elevated brow, the son continued, “Trusting a dwarf, especially this one? Based upon her claims? She has been with us for less than a season and--”

“When she is returned, Gellamon--”

“Returned?”

“She is missing, journeying through the woods.”

“If she is being hunted, we do not have time for this,” Thorin said harshly. The elves looked affronted, but Thorin had their measure now. They needed him. He strode to the door. “A small party,” he announced. For no force save the entirety of Mirkwood’s fighters could be assured of success, not if the Dark Lord’s orcs numbered as high as they might. “We will rely upon speed and stealth.”

“You have no--”

“Prince Gellamon, Oakenshield has command of this,” the Elvenking said, and Thorin detected just how much the elf loathed speaking the words. Yet, he’d worked himself into a corner, now, hadn’t he? By decreeing his precious family would be untouched, he’d left them in useless ignorance. 

“Go with him,” he heard the Elvenking say. “Both of you.” Softer, “The enemy is the Dark Lord Sauron returned, _ion nin._ He is too strong. Rage claims me. Suspicions. I will sequester myself until it passes.”

“Will it, _Adar?”_

There was no answer.

OoOoOo

“Lady Hwinneth might be able to save him,” Thorin heard the guard tell the prince as they hurried in his wake.

 _Fools._ Elves and their wretched lack of courage. He slammed open the door leading to the out-of-doors, ignoring the elven guards that attempted to intercept him only to be dismissed by the prince. 

“You cannot go with the rescue force,” Belegon said as Thorin picked up his pace to a jog. The three – _four,_ he corrected, spotting another elf hovering protectively beside Crown Prince Gellamon – accelerated, a sense of urgency pressing in upon them. Spying the large tunnel accessing the below-ground complex, Thorin headed that way, not waiting for an elf to take the lead.

“Oakenshield,” the same elf reiterated, “you cannot go.”

“Do not instruct me as to what I may do, elf,” Thorin growled. 

“You do not understand,” the elf responded in kind.

“You do not rule here, dwarf,” Gellamon interjected in clipped tones. “You are certain, Belegon? Hwinneth can restore my _adar?”_

Sunlight vanished, exchanged for the cool stone of caverns. Thorin’s booted feet pounded upon rock as he traversed the main tunnel, keeping an eye out for any landmarks to lead him to his companions.

The guard made an uncertain sound in the back of his throat. “It stands to reason.” The guard increased his pace until he gained Thorin’s side. “You must remain. If you leave, the efforts to capture Hwinneth will only grow exponentially. Their quest is dangerous enough. Do you really seek to add Azog and his son to their woes?” 

Thorin longed to shout to the sky. Their plight was dire enough, and now Azog was thrown back into the mix? Thorin clenched a fist. “He follows?”

The elf nodded. “According to her books--”

_“Whose_ books?” Gellamon asked with narrowed eyes.

“You’ve seen the books?” Thorin demanded.

“Sire, your father’s orders--”

“I care not. I am ruler at this moment. You will answer me.”

Thorin snorted though the situation held no amusement for him. Daphne must have left one of _the_ books with the thrice-cursed elves. Why? Why, when she refused to reveal all to him? _Aleks, your actions did more harm than you know._ The image of her shy approach in their dungeon, the almost flinching way she sought Bombur, replayed in his mind. 

“You find this amusing, dwarf?” the prince said. In that one sentence, he sounded exactly like his sire. 

Thorin rounded upon the prince. “I do,” he said harshly. “Your father wished the risk to fall upon those he does not care for. Dwarves,” he said with bitter candor. “If you seek to undo his efforts, it is on your head. I care not.” He resumed his quick pace, the guard gesturing to the right hand when they came to a T. 

Belegon shot Thorin an inscrutable look. “You protect the heir.”

“I do nothing of the sort,” Thorin denied.

“Then what was--?”

“Your king assumes there is safety in ignorance,” Thorin said, impatient at having to explain so basic a concept to one likely centuries older. “Our records say there is no such thing to be found. The Dark Lord cares not about ignorance. He thrives on pain and fear. Your king’s attempts to shield his family only leave them in peril. They cannot protect themselves if they know not the danger stalking these woods.”

Eyes pressed upon him – the prince’s he was certain – yet Thorin dismissed it from his mind, turning his attention to the task before him. “You said Azog hunts my Company?”

The guard led the way down another twisting offshoot. “He searches for you even now. His son will attack Mirkwood in three weeks’ time.”

“And you didn’t bother to mention this before now?” The prince’s question came in an oddly mild voice. 

“No, my Pr- Sire. If the books portray future events with any accuracy, the assault will be focused upon finding and executing the dwarves. They will do little damage to our people.”

_Their_ people. Thorin’s lip curled. _Dishonorable, misbegotten elves._

To Thorin, the guard continued, “You need to remain here. You and your heirs.” A slight pause. “Oakenshield…”

Thorin’s gaze slashed towards him.

“He seeks to end your line. He is bent upon it.”

_As he ever has,_ the dwarf king thought with familiar fury. The orc would rue the day he’d set his sights upon Thorin’s line, he promised himself. _He will never touch my nephews._ “His son attacks Mirkwood in three weeks,” Thorin reiterated as they took another turn, elves scattering from their path. 

“Yes.”

Thorin frowned. Azog’s _son,_ not Azog himself. He knew his foe. Azog was as committed to hunting and murdering him as Thorin was to reciprocate now that he knew the orc lived. Why, then? Why send his son? “Where is Azog while this transpires?” he asked.

The elf shook his head. “I do not know. I have not had the time to read more than pieces of the book.”

“Where _is_ this book?” Prince Gellamon asked in a hard voice. Thorin, too, felt the importance of the question. Both kings halted their progress to turn upon the guard.

A guard who looked frantic at a sudden realization. His attention rushed to his liege lord. “My prince.” An audible swallow. “It is in the Elvenking’s study.”

The prince took a moment to become worried, but Thorin did not. He instantly bit out, “You left a manuscript in the study with your king? A manuscript detailing the exact details of a future that would see the Dark Lord destroyed for good? The Dark Lord is overtaking his _mind,_ Guard Belegon.”

The prince turned on his heel and retraced his path, the second guard falling into place beside him. “I’ll handle it. Belegon, follow my father’s orders. Oakenshield chooses the members of the party, but _he stays,_ understood?”

“Understood, sire.”

“Good.”

_Of course. We must be assured of the dwarves’ good behavior, mustn’t we?_

Thorin glared the remaining guard into motion. This time, they ran.

OoOoOo

They burst into the dungeon with zero fanfare. Dwarves leaped to their feet, questions filling the air. Thorin held up one hand and silence ensued.

“You are certain about Azog’s son?” By Durin, he could not believe he had to work with elves. 

“As I breathe. I swear by Eru Ilúvatar Himself. Even should my prince not have commanded it, you must remain, Oakenshield. Your quest to reclaim Erebor must succeed.”

“Did this happen in the books? The violation of your king’s mind?” he demanded. 

The elf’s eyes slid away. “No.”

Thorin growled low in his throat. His gaze landed upon his nephews, the two side-by-side in their cell, hands around bars and faces set in similar, worried lines. _Azog hunts them._ The image of Thror’s severed head flashed through his mind. No, he would not risk them with this venture. If he was barred from departing, they would remain with him where he could watch over them. 

A part of him insisted that a Thranduil under the Dark Lord’s influence could not be worse than Thranduil alone, but another part of him recalled the stacks of dusty books and parchments stored within Erebor’s extensive library. As heir, Thorin had spent countless hours under his sire’s tutelage learning all of history, including those dark years. At the time, he’d thought those hours wasted. Now, he recalled all he’d learned. 

No, a Thranduil perverted by Sauron would be a nightmare. He felt a flash of grudging respect that the elf king had stepped down to safeguard his people. It was quickly dispelled by the knowledge that the self-same king wished to use Thorin as a shield for his purposes. 

Who to send? Thorin’s gaze landed upon Bombur. Daphne trusted that dwarf above them all, but he worried about Bombur’s ability to keep up. Speed was of the essence. 

“Things have changed,” he told his dwarves. All of them clustered at the head of their cells, eyes intent. “The Dark Lord has set his sights upon Mistress Hunt. He has no awareness of what she knows. He seeks vengeance for the actions of others, and his fury has found in her a target.” 

Dwarvish mutters filled the air. He raised his voice over the din. “The Elvenking has stepped down.” Silence followed his words. “He intends to use us as we are expendable.” 

More mutters, angrier. Gloin’s refrain, “Never trust an elf,” earned a host of nods. 

“Our companions are in peril. We of the Khazâd remember tales of the Dark Lord. We will face this evil while elves quake in their bowers for fear.” 

A host of vehement, brave shouts. 

They filled him with pride, these dwarves. “The elven heir commands I remain behind to secure your good behavior and Mistress Hunt’s safe return.” Again, silence, this time bearing a colder edge. More than one dwarf glared at the guard by his side. 

Thorin turned in a slow circle. “I know the brave heart that beats within your chests, companions. Each of you would spill your life’s blood in defense of our missing friends. I know not what size of force Sauron can muster. The Elvenking informed me that the Dark Lord can call the spiders infesting these woods. He will also summon what orcs and wargs he has at his disposal. The planning of this rescue has been left in my hands.”

“Uncle, I will go in your stead,” Fíli stated. Kíli’s head whipped towards his brother in surprise, but then his jaw firmed, and he nodded.

“Send us,” Kíli said.

By Durin. Humble appreciation for the two filled him. Unfortunately, he could not in good conscience send them. 

“I will send a small party. It is my hope they may locate our friends and avoid the army searching for them altogether. It is our best hope for success. Horses are being prepared.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Most of us must stay. I am told,” he said with some resentment and self-mockery for heeding an elf, “that Erebor’s reclamation is essential to the future as well. Here is my decision.” 

He turned to one cell in particular. “Bofur, Bifur, if you are willing, I charge you with locating and defending our missing companions.”

Bifur nodded with satisfaction, the ax head embedded in his skull glinting in the firelight. Bofur grinned as if being ordered to the local pub. 

“These two? Are you certain?” Belegon asked dubiously.

Thorin ignored him and stepped closer to the bars of their cage. “You must succeed.”

The younger toymaker’s merry grin melted as if it’d never been. “We’ll see them through, Thorin. That, you can count upon.”

As the elf unlocked their door, Gloin spoke up. “Ye should send me as well, laddie.” 

Thorin considered Gloin’s statement. The dwarf was a fearsome warrior, and that was a fact. His riding ability, however, was another story. “You do not ride well, Master Gloin.”

The dwarf harrumphed behind his bushy red beard. “Aye, ‘tis the truth, but laddie, they’ll need my ax if the spiders find them. I can keep my seat if I sit behind one of the others.”

The elf unlocked Bofur and Bifur’s cell as Thorin weighed Gloin’s words. They would need that same ax when the time came to venture into Erebor. 

“Very well, Master Gloin,” he said with heavy reluctance. “You will join them.” 

Gloin clapped and rubbed his hands together, his brown eyes alight with anticipation.

Belegon cleared his throat.

“Yes?” Thorin asked the elf as he hesitated before opening Gloin’s cell.

“I’m uncertain Master Gloin is a good choice,” the elf said cautiously. 

“Am I to be insulted by an elf?” the dwarf in question blustered with chest puffed out and hands fisted at his sides. 

Thorin lifted a hand. “Explain.” He was growing weary of the oblique references to a future he still did not believe was certain. 

The elf’s gaze darted towards Gloin and back. 

“Guard Belegon, time is passing while you jump like a cricket upon the hotplate. Speak,” he commanded.

The elf straightened as if brought to attention by his liege. “My lord, Gloin’s son, Gimli, figures largely in the defeat of the Dark Lord in the future. If this dwarf is lost, it could change Gimli’s future.”

_Mahal._ It only needed this. Thorin rubbed his face while Gloin’s unkempt brows vanished into his hairline. Soon, the dwarf all but preened at the hinted prowess of his son. 

Thorin dropped his hand. “Free him,” he commanded. “No matter the outcome, Gimli shall be well trained. We will ensure it.” He caught Balin’s and Dwalin’s emphatic agreement from the corner of his eye. 

Once the three dwarves were lined up before him, Thorin lowered his voice. “The Dark Lord is ransacking the Elvenking’s mind. He seeks dominion over the elf as well as news of our dryad.” 

Gloin nodded perfunctorily while Bifur and Bofur exchanged short, hard looks. 

“Make no mistake, the situation is dire,” Thorin continued. “If he wins over the elf, the secret is out. He will never stop hunting her. Or Aleks, should he discover his existence.”

An uncharacteristically grim Bofur asked, “How will we be finding them?”

“That, I can help with,” the scarred guard interjected. “Prince Legolas has horses waiting. He cannot join us to the Misty Mountains, but he can track Hwinneth. _Daphne,”_ he corrected at their blank looks. 

_Us?_ Thorin didn’t remember selecting the elf for this duty. He turned to the Company.

“Bombur,” Bofur said flatly.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Thorin murmured, “He’ll slow you down.”

Bifur shook his head in an adamant no, one shared by Bofur. “Of the Company, Thorin, the three of us are the best horsemen. We’ve years in the saddle between us while peddling our wares. If we are riding, Bombur is the one to send. Any of the others will struggle to remain seated at the pace we’ll be setting.”

Meaning they’d have to ride pillion as Gloin would be doing. “Very well.” To the elf, “Bombur as well.” A jerk of his chin gestured to the dwarf in question.

“Him?” the elf asked in disbelief.

Bofur fisted one hand out of the elf’s sight while presenting a mild, smiling visage to the world. Thorin almost wished the elf would keep prattling ignorantly. By Durin, he’d enjoy witnessing the thrashing Bofur would dish out in defense of his beloved younger brother. 

Alas, they had no time. “Time is of the essence, Guard Belegon.”

Belegon did a double-take at his authoritative voice, but nodded. “As you say.”

Thorin remained with his departing dwarves and the elf escort as they ran up the dungeon steps and through the winding network of tunnels. “You will need to watch for Azog’s son,” Thorin informed the dwarves as they barreled up a long, curved hall. 

Gloin’s head whipped about while the other three dwarves again exchanged looks amongst themselves. “Aye?” Gloin prodded.

Thorin nodded, grim. “He tracks us.” He said no more. He’d not allow the three to be distracted with concerns about the rest of them whilst in peril themselves. They exited the caves into a courtyard, Bombur huffing and puffing at Thorin’s back. 

A familiar elf waited with saddled mounts lined up behind him. 

“Prince Legolas,” Belegon greeted with a perfectly correct bow. 

Bofur caught Thorin’s gaze at the display, his eye rolling heavenward. Thorin’s lips twitched.

“Belegon?” Legolas’s hand slapped around the hilt of his weapon. “You set them free?” Narrowed blue eyes traveled among the dwarves.

“By the king’s command,” Belegon said. “We’ve no time, Prince Legolas. We must fly, and the dwarves come with us.”

The prince’s attention shot back to the guard. “Explain.”

“Can you track Hwinneth?” Belegon asked.

“Easily.” The confused elf turned suspicious eyes Thorin’s way, then towards the four dwarves at his back. “Where are you taking them?”

“I remain here,” Thorin said with a small smirk, a part of him driven to needle the prince who had thus far captured him _twice._ The elf frowned, and Thorin’s smirk grew. “With such gracious hospitality, how could I refuse?” he asked in a tone dry enough to catch fire. He half-turned to Bofur with raised brows.

“Oh, aye. The victuals of your table,” the younger toymaker proclaimed, making a smacking sound as he kissed his pursed fingers, “are the stuff of dreams, to be sure. I cannot imagine how we will tear ourselves away, but when the king commands, the king commands.” Brown-green eyes sparkled mischievously from within a sorrowful face. 

“Mount up,” Belegon ordered with a jerk of his head. 

Thorin halted his dwarves with one raised hand. “I believe you are forgetting something.”

Bifur’s tense shoulders relaxed. 

_Ah, did you think I’d forget to see to your needs, my friend?_ Thorin jerked his head at the dwarves. “They’ll protect our missing people as best they can, but I believe their task would be easier seen to with more than empty hands.”

Belegon stared. Then shaking his head, he muttered, “I cannot believe I forgot that.”

_Forgot? Or intended to neglect?_ Thorin folded his arms before him and watched the proceedings like a hawk.

The guard turned to Prince Legolas. “Watch them,” he said, sounding for all the world like their roles were reversed. He returned not a minute later with a dozen elves behind him, each bearing pieces of the Company’s gear. 

Bofur, Bifur, and Gloin quickly claimed back what was theirs and strapped on their various weapons. Bombur laid claim to Nori’s hefty mace, Thorin noted with satisfaction. One less piece of dwarvish gear tainted by an elf’s touch. It proved how seriously the cook took Thorin’s warnings about the dangerous nature of their mission. A ladle would not suffice, not against what they might face. 

“You _do_ have a reason for this, I hope?” Prince Legolas asked of Belegon.

“I do.”

“And you will explain it in more detail later,” Prince Gellamon said as he marched into the courtyard. The mithril-crowned prince had a strange, white object in his hands as he inspected the scene before him. Behind him, another elf followed, one clad similarly in breeches and tunic, but this elf wore grays accented with silvers that matched the hue of his hair. Tall, this one, taller than any other elf in sight. He wore a crown more akin to the Elvenking’s but lacking its stature. Both looked Thorin over with disapproval but held their peace.

“You remain behind, Oakenshield,” the heir stated with calm authority. 

Thorin folded his arms before his chest. 

“My prince,” Guard Belegon said with respect, “Your father ordered me to coordinate with the King Under the Mountain.”

“I was unaware Erebor had been reclaimed,” the elf commented coolly.

Thorin’s dwarves rustled with insult, but he lifted one hand. As the guard had said, they had not the time for this. Daphne knew how the Dark Lord’s campaign would progress, and he was certain she knew where the cursed Ring could be found. The thought of that monster back at full strength was enough to stave off the insult beneath the elf’s calm words. 

Thorin did, however, file away the slight for later redress. 

“My prince. Sire,” the guard began again. “Oakenshield and I know how important this mission is to our future. Please trust us in this.”

Gellamon turned that white object over in his hands, rotating it, the two thin braids bracketing his face falling over his shoulders. 

The guard stepped nearer to his prince. “Please, my prince. King Thranduil commanded you not pursue this.” Thorin noted the way the guard’s uneasy gaze strayed to the object Gellamon carried.

Thorin growled with wordless frustration. “Enough of this.” He stepped up to the mithril-crowned elf. “Daphne--”

“Lady Hwinneth,” Belegon corrected.

Thorin’s teeth gnashed together. “Comes from a land not our own.”

“Yes, I am aware,” the heir said.

“It is difficult to believe, yet her books _do_ tell of the return of the Dark Lord. And the events of his defeat.”

“What?” Prince Legolas burst in.

Gellamon lifted a finger, silencing his younger brother. The third brother eyed the eldest as Gellamon in turn eyed the dwarves. “He hunts Hwinneth, and she knows all of this,” he said as if testing what he’d heard.

“Aye,” Gloin said impatiently.

The elf pinched his brow and then turned to glare at the guard. “You knew of the danger, yet you allowed her to slip away?”

Belegon snapped to attention. “I learned the nature of the threat only an hour ago, Prince Gellamon.”

Gellamon’s lips compressed. “Then we ride.”

“You cannot come.” Again, the guard took it upon himself to order about his superiors. By the looks he received from the other guards and the three princes, it was uncharacteristic and not welcome. 

“Pardon?” Gellamon asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Belegon swallowed but did not back down. “I know generally what will transpire. Legolas must not do more than see us to Hwinneth. He has a role to perform in the future that cannot be endangered.”

“That is Legolas,” Gellamon snapped.

“And you are the heir, my prince,” the guard insisted, his voice rising. “Our king fights for his very mind. The Dark Lord attacks through his link with the woods. If you join the hunt, he will seek you, too. We can ill afford to lose you both!”

Gellamon’s face seemed to freeze. 

“I will go.” All eyes turned to the tall, silver-haired elf. 

“Caranoran,” Gellamon said in warning.

“No, Gellamon. I will go. Who else? Belegon cannot accompany us,” Caranoran said with splayed hands.

Belegon straightened. “I go.”

“No, you cannot. You are the only other repository for the knowledge we may need,” the tall prince countered.

“Prince Gellamon has the book,” he insisted.

“If you could label it as such,” the prince in question said with exasperation. He lifted the thin white rectangle for all to see. “See you any pages, Royal Guard?”

“I can show you how to use it,” the guard dared growl. The expression that moved across the heir’s face drove him to his knees.

“I consider you a friend, Guard Belagon, but be careful. I will not tolerate disrespect.”

“No, sire.”

Thorin turned his back upon the tableau. “Mount up,” he told his dwarves in an undertone. Bofur and Bifur quickly inspected the horses and selected three that suited them. 

“By the time the elves cease their prattle, we’ll have the lass back,” Gloin grumbled. 

Thorin cupped his hands and hoisted Gloin up behind Bofur. The dwarf immediately wobbled. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” the dwarf insisted, grabbing hold of Bofur’s waist. 

The toymaker grinned. “That would be _me_ ye’ve got, Master Gloin,” Bofur said. 

“Ride hard,” Thorin instructed them. “Take no risks.”

A second later, Thorin smirked to see the elves scatter for their mounts and gear, discussion ended as the dwarves galloped towards Mirkwood’s main gate.


	25. Going to Need More Brooms

### Chapter 24

“Incoming!” 

Aleks’s bellow projected me from my thin bedroll like a rocket. I landed on my feet, disoriented. Everything glowed in putrid yellows shot through with luminescent navies and dark purples. It all spun like a psychedelic kaleidoscope as my brain tried to figure out what was happening and what I was seeing. Flashes of crippling pain and nausea painted spots before my vision. _Mirkwood._ The proximity to the diseased wood had been bad before I’d managed to nod off. Now, it threatened to gut me. 

The air was ripe with fear, and the trees’ death cries ratcheted it up to Dol Guldur levels. My heart threw itself against my ribcage over and over again like a terrified rabbit slamming itself against the bars of its cage. I found Aleks in the confusion of changing, darkening lights. At first, I didn’t see the cause for his cry nor the trees’ death calls, but as my eyes lifted… The distant objects looked like nothing more than tangled clumps of pale limbs or knotted masses of roots. But then, details resolved themselves. 

“No.” Spiders. _Giant_ spiders with eight legs and fuzzy looking bodies as creepy as the worst horror flick of all time. Reams of them skittered their way towards us with single-minded determination. It was like a tidal wave of pallid bodies glowing in the inconstant light of my dryad sight, all swarming at us from every direction. 

Another spasm of pain lanced through my belly, and I fell to my knees. I tried to breathe through the pain and terror, my fingers clawing through the dried up detritus beneath my fingertips. _Get up! Get up!_ This was not happening. Spiders? I freaked out if a Daddy Longlegs came into view.

Bilbo’s hairy feet appeared within my line of vision. “This does not bode well for us, I shouldn’t think.”

“No, really?” Aleks snapped, bow held at the ready. A breath later, the distinctive whistle of arrows in flight broke the muted silence of the glade. “Daphne?” Distracted sounding, the question, as if bit out from between clenched teeth. A swift inhale. _“Daph?”_

_Daphne’s not here right now. Please leave your name and number, and she’ll get back to you at a more convenient time._

A big part of me felt like it was checking out. “Keep shooting,” I managed to say. Why was he pestering me? Did we not have enough on our plates with man-eating spiders barreling down upon us? My temper fired. He’d chosen a pitiful time to develop a conscience where I was concerned. 

Small dirt- and grime-roughened hands aided me to my feet. I swayed, swallowing reflexively as nausea roiled through me. Bilbo threw me a worried look but the bulk of his big-eyed attention was focused decidedly elsewhere. 

I staggered again, trying to remain upright as my innards twisted themselves into pretty knots. Searching frantically for some healthy vegetation I could use – I didn’t care how tiny at this point – I froze as my eyes registered what was right before them. I’d grown accustomed to the threatening black specks marring the plants’ life-force, but this was infinitely worse. Black kernels traveled like tiny beetles, pouring off the surrounding vegetation and coalescing upon the handful to trees nearest us, so much so that those poor trees were nothing more than writhing columns of disease that glowed with the virulence of an 80’s black light bulb. Their ghoulish light turned the surrounding forest a nightmarish cerulean. Before my eyes, I witnessed the last filaments of yellow snuff out. The trees here had been utterly consumed. 

Dead.

Every ounce of blood drained from my face. “He’s here,” I whispered. Aleks’s head whipped around. His chin bobbed up in a question. If Bilbo heard, he gave no outward evidence of it. 

Sauron had sent his spiders. They neared with every frantic beat of my heart, growing larger and larger. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. He’d used them as scouts, no doubt. But why? I was small potatoes,

Didn’t matter. Better question: what was next? Orcs. Wargs. _Nazgûl?_ I scrubbed at my face, trying to think, but my terror of spiders mixed with the growing sense of _him_ made it a feat on a par with singlehandedly slaying Smaug with a spoon. 

Bilbo. 

I grabbed him with one hand and dragged him, willy-nilly, to a white-eyed Nibenroch. “You have to leave,” I told him.

“What? I’m not--”

_“You have to,”_ I almost screamed. “You are the only one who can stop this, do you understand? No one else can bear what you must.”

“Mistress Daphne--”

“Do as she says, Bilbo,” Aleks growled. Spiders fell as his arrows punctured rotund bodies, his accuracy improving with proximity, but that very proximity meant we had only a handful of gasping breaths left before we were inundated. “Dude, get to Beorn. You ride like mad and don’t stop for anything, got it?” 

“But--”

“Bilbo, please,” I begged, pushing him into the saddle. “You have to go.” A quick glance over my shoulder froze the air in my lungs. I shoved Nib in the shoulder and slapped his rump. “Run!”

Nib half-reared and bolted with a high-pitched neigh, his ears flat to his skull and mane whipping behind him like a banner. The two raced beneath a tree-bound wave of insects, Nib only just managing to stay ahead of the sticky wads of webbing projected at them. 

Nibenroch shrilled and dodged between trees. Bilbo flattened himself to the horse’s back, the little hobbit almost disappearing from view. They broke past the final line of giant spiders. A few spiders scurried after them.

I stared at my hand and the nearest tree. One touch. One touch, and Bilbo would be free. The spiders would turn back for me. Sauron had no reason to pursue the hobbit, not with what he didn’t know. 

That lone neuron chose that moment to return and freeze me in my tracks. One touch and Estel would never live to maturity. The Shire would be razed. Gimli would be hunted and executed, as would Legolas. Denethor would likely never live to sire sons, and Theoden would never grow up. 

I recoiled, hand pressed to my breast. 

“Aleks,” I tried to say and found my voice robbed of strength. I stumbled to him. _“Aleks.”_

“Kind of busy here, Daph.”

“It won’t work,” I said, placing one hand to his bow. His head whipped around. “It won’t work,” I repeated. “We can’t take them. And the minute _he_ has me, it all ends.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his grip on his bow turned a pale blue in the unhealthy light. “What are you saying?”

“I can distract them. Just for a second. You’ll slip free after Bilbo.”

“I am not--”

“You have to shoot me.”

OoOoOo

No. Way.

She was not asking this of him. Not after everything. “Not happening,” he growled.

She tugged at his arm and plucked at his tunic sleeves. “Aleks--”

“No.” He returned to firing his weapon. He knew she was right – there was no way out of this for them – but for Durin’s sake. To just give up? It wasn’t in him. He’d go down fighting, and he’d take as many of these monsters with him as he could. 

He would not go out a murderer of his own sister. 

Thunder rumbled. “Great. Just what we need. Rain.” It figured. Aleks aimed his bow. 

_“Khazad ai-Menu!”_

Aleks almost peed himself in overwhelming relief. Bifur appeared at the helm of a mounted host of warriors, the ground shaking under their hooves. Aleks yelped as Bifur reached over and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. With a deft twist of the wrist, Bifur deposited Aleks on the saddle’s cantle behind him. Aleks almost tipped over backwards, but steadied himself by grabbing the wild-haired dwarf’s broad shoulders. 

Elves swarmed past, engaging the spiders with Legolas in the lead. Bifur’s horse danced, its eyes rolling, but the dwarf made no move to urge his horse onward. There was nowhere to go. The spiders rushed at them from all directions, a glowing sea of arachnids that lit up his satyr’s sight like an oncoming flow of lava. 

_Bilbo, my man. Be safe._ He hoped the hobbit had slipped free of this death trap. 

Bifur turned his horse to the three o’clock position and met an oncoming spider’s charge with a thrust of his boar spear. Using its inertia, the dwarf swung the boar spear over head and let the spider’s body fly in the opposite direction, slamming into still more spiders. 

“Dude. Bifur, I wanna be you when I grow up,” he said over the roar of battle. Lifting his bow, Aleks began firing, concentrating his efforts upon the spiders rappelling down from above. 

Bofur materialized to Aleks’s left. The other toymaker met the leading edge of a group of insects that had managed to swarm past the elves’ front lines. And was that Gloin? Sure enough, a second glance confirmed that the small figure standing on foot in a sea of spiders was none other than the dwarf in question. And did he dish out the _hurt._ The dwarf’s ax flew, and spider limbs severed. Gloin laughed like he hadn’t had as much fun in decades.

What was going on? Dwarves cooperating with elves… Had hell frozen over and no one bothered to inform him? 

Bofur wielded his mattock like a grim reaper, sweeping it along one side of his mount with the sharp pick side pointed inward. The pick pierced through everything in its path, both puncturing and crushing opponent after opponent. 

At Bofur’s six, Bombur twisted a mace overhead – Nori’s? – before cracking it down upon one foe after another. Nothing survived his brutal strikes. Gore coated the weapon, and bits stuck in the spikes. 

Had something happened to Nori? Fear for all of his family seized him, and he craned around in search of his sister. Of all those he cared for, she was the most vulnerable. He’d expected to see her clutching Bofur’s back, or Bombur’s, but neither had a passenger.

He was about to jump off Bifur’s mount to find her when he saw her distinctive aura beyond them. Daphne sat before a silver haired elf, his cloak hiding her from view as he lashed out with a sword at anything that ventured near. Aleks’s breath hitched. The spiders were targeting them, crawling over anything in their path in a bid to get at the two. While the elf was amazing to watch, how long could he last?

Bofur urged his mount closer the instant he had a second to catch his breath. “Where’s our hobbit?” the toymaker hollered above the cacophony of battle raging around them. 

“We sent him ahead,” Aleks shouted back, his attention again returning to check on the elf with his sister. “With the horse.”

Relief brightened the older man’s countenance. The toymaker’s lips pulled up in a lopsided grin. Bofur’s smile assumed a sharp edge, and he drawled, “Did I not tell you, Bifur? The lad throws a party and fails to invite us.” 

Bifur’s chest rumbled with laughter, and Aleks caught a glimpse of an unkempt gray-streaked black beard and the profile of the ax in his skull as Bifur turned a toothy grin upon his cousin. 

“I glad to see you guys,” Aleks said. “But I’d be happier if one of you had scooped up Daphne.” 

“Aye,” Bombur huffed from behind them. His mace cracked down on another spider attempting to sneak its way closer to Bifur’s other flank. “That elf snatched her up before I could.”

“What happened to Nori?” Aleks demanded. “And the others?” He was about to change gear and point out that silver-haired elf’s plight, but arrows rained down from one of the trees. The elf saluted in that direction with his ichor-coated sword

Bofur crushed another spider beneath the weight of the flat end of his mattock. “Safe as a wee bairn back in the Elvenking’s Halls,” he said. 

Safe? In Thranduil’s care? What could have happened to make that a “safe” option? _I don’t want to know,_ he decided. (What was a bairn?)

Closer and closer the spiders pressed and for a long stretch, the only sounds were the ring of weapons and the screams of the injured. 

“How many of these things _are_ there?” Aleks said in disbelief. “Tell me it could be worse than this, Bofur!” 

The dwarf in question paused only long enough to back his horse up and smash his mattock into a new leading edge of insects. “Oi!” He took a moment to kick a spider that’d snuck up on his flank before he proclaimed with a grin, “At least there is no dragon!”

Aleks snorted and almost choked on spittle. A laugh burst from him. He wasn’t the only one. The elf protecting Daphne barked in disbelief, shaking his head as he utilized his sword like a scalpel in the hands of a surgeon. No wasted movement. 

Bofur threw a jaunty smile over his shoulder, “Ye think we should inform the elves that they have a bit of a spider problem?”

Aleks laughed again as he notched another arrow. 

Bombur replied in a loud voice, “Dwarf lassies know better how to avoid such a sorry state. Perhaps elf lassies cannot wield a broom?”

Aleks reached for another arrow and felt panic grow. He was going to run out of ammo at this rate. All around them elves fought spiders, some on foot while others had found perches among the towering, blighted trees. One fell with a scream, his torso a bloody mess. _Mahal._ Aleks really wished for Thorin’s rock-steady presence, but he immediately countered the thought. He’d rather Thorin and the others remain safe. _Safer,_ he corrected. He didn’t for a second trust them in that elf king’s tender mercies.

His gaze returned to his sister. The elf fought in a style completely different from the dwarves’. Where Aleks’s friends relied heavily upon brute strength and Herculean feats of might, the elf – all the elves for that matter – utilized their uncanny agility to dance around potential blows. Daphne’s protector was hindered by Daph’s presence, but he held his own with the aerial assistance. 

So far.

“Can we work our way closer to Daph?” he shouted, only to duck at Bofur’s sharp, “Down!” The mattock slammed into a spider Aleks hadn’t even seen coming and batted it across the glade like a freaking baseball.

“Thanks,” Aleks called. 

Bifur urged his trembling horse into a slow retreat, never turning his back to the oncoming arachnids. Aleks’s quiver ran dry. He immediately thought of the second quiver left behind somewhere in their dark campsite. A swift scan promised that finding it would be impossible. All around, spiders gushed odd colored fluids and died, while elves rained down arrows from above or dove into the mess of them with flashing blades. It was chaos. Absolute, blood-chilling chaos. 

_Where’s Gandalf when you need him?_ Oh, that was right. According to Daphne, Gandalf was off ousting the necromancer from Dol Guldur. They wouldn’t catch so much as a glimpse of his pointed hat for weeks to come. 

Daphne screamed, and the Company responded like a shot. The three mounted dwarves spun their steeds around and kicked them into a gallop. Across the way, Gloin began to power through spiders like he was fighting a current, his ax never still. The elf’s gray horse staggered as multiple spiders swarmed up its chest. Daph had both legs pulled up. The horse retreated as fast as it could, but it was going down. The elf could not slay the creatures fast enough to save them. 

Then Daph looked at the tree they were inches from slamming into and jumped off the horse before the elf could do more than cry, “Hwinneth!” 

She fell hard, but she scrambled up and ran for Bofur at the head of their pack. A spider reared up and spat silken threads at her. They splattered across her legs, and she crashed down again. 

“Get up,” Aleks called stupidly. It wasn’t like she wasn’t trying. The gooey stuff defied her efforts, trapping legs and then hands as she tried to tear it with her bare fingers. 

Bofur leaped down from the running horse, slashed across the webbed threads with his mattock. He kicked the spider like a football. Grabbing Daph up with his free hand, he vaulted at the horse, making up with strong legs what he lacked in stature. Once seated, he held her locked in place with one arm around her waist while his mattock plowed through the oncoming writhing mass of legs and bodies pursuing her. 

“Daph, you okay?” Aleks shouted from behind Bifur, his heart pounding from the near miss. 

“They’re trying to make me touch one of the trees,” she cried, both arms around Bofur’s neck in a death grip.

“Why would they do that?” Aleks called over his shoulder as he drew his sword and joined Bifur’s efforts on keeping the disgusting creatures off his sister. 

“Because _he’s here,_ Aleks. He’s pulled all of his disease from everything nearby and funneled it into the trees _here.”_

Aleks witnessed the hard, slightly bemused look Bofur shared with his cousin and brother, then the Three Bs turned to him for clarification. 

They sure didn’t have time for explanations. “Keep her away from any plants, Bofur,” Aleks said. _“Any.”_ He had no idea what would happen if she touched one, but it was plain to him that such a fate scared her more than the spiders. And Daphne had always loathed spiders. He used to sneak jars full of them into her bedroom at night for just that reason.

Bofur nodded shortly, and Bombur nudged his mount into position in front of Daphne and his brother. The mace hit target after target, each impact audible and horrible. 

The silver-haired elf faltered a few paces from them, but arrows rained down from above, and another, blond elf dismounted from the branch above with a gymnastic twist that planted him on his feet right before the other. 

“Are you injured?” the blond, Legolas, demanded.

The taller elf grunted but shook his head. “Nothing more than scratches.”

“Hwinneth?” Legolas called next. 

“I’m fine,” Daphne said. 

Legolas spared her a short look, assessing. “I doubt that, _penneth,_ but hold tight. We near the end of them. They are thinning.”

_Thinning?_ Aleks didn’t see it, but _ookay._ He hoped the elf was right, because the dwarves were dripping sweat, and Aleks felt like he’d run the Iditarod by himself using only his hands. 

Shaking off his hope for a swift end to this nightmare, he rotated his shoulders to loosen up tight muscles and slashed towards another spider.

OoOoOo

I breathed deeply. Bofur smelled of pipeweed, horse, and old, stale sweat. The earthy, common scents filled my nostrils with each inhalation. The guy was rank, no doubt about it – time in a dungeon followed by a chaser of hard riding would do that – but there was no disease or cloying decay present. He smelled of honest labor, and I took a measure of comfort in it.

The cramping of my internal muscles refused to subside, leaving me basically dead in the water while everyone else did the hard work of keeping us all intact and breathing. Reduced to damsel-in-distress-ness. Oh joy. 

Bofur’s deep, relieved exhale was my first clue we’d survived. My second was the sound of Legolas’s barked commands to cut down the remaining spider stragglers. I was able to relinquish my white-fingered grip on Bofur, daring to believe that no spider was going to descend and rip me from him. My hands slipped down from his neck, and he patted me on the back. 

“Alright, my lass?” he asked near my ear. His mustache tickled my earlobe, an odd sensation. 

“Aye,” I said, the word slipping from me. Pulling back, I offered him a weak smile. His face was shadowed in the strange dark light. “You saved me back there, Bofur. I won’t forget it.”

_“Och,”_ he said with his customary smile. I could think of no one who smiled as much as this dwarf and his kin. Funny that the stories should make them out to be idiots because of it, because from where I sat, life needed more humor. “Couldn’t be letting the elves have all the fun, now, could we?”

“The rest of the Company? They’re okay?”

“Aye. Thorin ordered them to stay put. They were not best pleased.”

I snorted, then rubbed my belly surreptitiously, but not surreptitiously enough based upon the slight tensing along his shoulders. “Thank you. If you hadn’t arrived when you did…” Impulse became action, and I leaned up to peck him on the cheek. 

His brows shot sky high, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Legolas interrupted. 

“Hwinneth.” 

I twisted in the saddle, breathing deeply as moving set my stomach into further gyrations. Bofur’s arm tucked tighter around me. His mattock lifted the teensiest bit, as if he saw Legolas as a potential threat. 

Legolas examined me, his head tilted back and hands upon his hips. That smooth, elvish brow creased in concern. “Hwinneth, you look terrible.”

“Tha--”

“He’s right, Daph. Has it gotten worse?” Aleks asked from somewhere behind us. 

Now I knew I was ill, because Aleks’s concern actually looked and felt sincere. _I must be hallucinating._ That was the only explanation. Aleks, concerned? No way. I shook my head, turned to Legolas, and answered with a dry, “Thank you, _mellon nin._ I feel so much better hearing that.”

His stern demeanor developed a crack, and a small smile spread across his lips. “At least I know now that you are not severing your ties with us,” he said. 

“Severing?” I echoed. I was aghast at his conclusion, but movement compelled my attention back to the black energy intensifying all around us. Chills broke out upon my arms. 

Bofur’s grip on me shifted, adjusting so that he could see my face…and place me a few inches further away from the elf. 

Legolas glanced at him, measuring, before returning to me. “You left without a word to _Ada_ or _Naneth.”_

I plucked on the fabric of Bofur’s tunic. How could I make Legolas see? “Legolas, I have to do this. I couldn’t risk _Gwathadar_ denying me.”

“I know.” His soft statement halted me in my tracks. “So Belegon said. But you left unprepared and without suitable escort.”

“So you brought my dwarves?” I blurted. It sounded arrogant and all kinds of demeaning, but I didn’t mean it that way. I meant… These three dwarves here were _my_ dwarves. The ones who had taken me into their care straight off. Of them all, I knew these the best. 

Legolas’s shadowed brow arched upwards. “Your dwarves?” he asked with a trace of amusement but also a touch of warning. 

Deciding I wasn’t quite to the puking stage, I risked leaning forward, offering Legolas my hand. He slipped his into my grasp, his flesh cooler, paler. “Legolas, I would trust these three, trust _any_ of Thorin’s dwarves, really, with my life. They aren’t your enemy.”

His lips twisted. “Apparently not at the moment.” He lifted a hand, halting my objections while I did a double-take, spotting Gloin over his shoulder. “Peace, Hwinneth. I will collect the gear we gathered for you. You must ride on. To all appearances, the Dark Lord summoned the entire spider population in Mirkwood. We followed their tracks for miles.”

The Dark Lord. How did Legolas…?

Legolas trotted off, and Caranoran quickly took his place. Bofur’s next breath held a hint of annoyance and impatience. I patted his hand as Caranoran said, “Hwinneth, I was concerned. Why did you jump from my horse?”

Could we do this some other time? I swallowed, squirming in my seat and seriously considering finding a private patch of empty soil to pay homage to. I wanted my first aid kit and a big wad of mint. 

“Hwinneth?”

Deep breaths. That was the ticket. I forced myself to answer, “We have to leave, Caranoran. I know you have no idea what is happening--”

“Try me,” he said, no humor at all in those eyes. A hand looped around my ankle and squeezed. 

“How bad is it, Daph?” Aleks asked, keeping his voice low from where he sat behind Bifur, the two still mounted.

Caranoran shot a venomous glare in Aleks’s direction. I noted it, but it was the last thing I cared about at the moment. Aleks’s question made me hyper-aware of just how much more of the evil sludge had migrated here. I didn’t need to look around us. I could _feel_ the black energy like billions of ants crawling over my skin. 

“Bad,” I whispered. “The energy around us is completely black. It’s like it collected bits of itself on the way here. He knows, Aleks. He knows I’m different and that I can cleanse his plague. Only a little bit at a time, but with Thranduil’s help, we could undo a lot of the damage he did. I guess he sees me as a threat to his plans for this kingdom.”

“More than that,” Legolas said. 

“What do you mean?” Aleks demanded, glaring.

Legolas acted like Aleks didn’t exist, and although I knew it rude, a part of me wanted to kiss him for that. Kiss _both_ elves for their displays of loyalty and anger. Legolas’s head turned my way. “He attacked _Ada_ the day we left.”

I blanched. _“What?”_ No, no, no. That wasn’t supposed to happen. “How bad?”

“I don’t know. Gellamon remained behind to rule in his stead. _Ada_ asked Thorin Oakenshield for his aid before he secluded himself for our protection.”

Aleks swore, looking away with a rigid profile. Then turning back, “We need to get you out of here.”

“Aye,” Bofur agreed. Bifur nodded emphatically. 

“We need to find Bilbo, too,” I broached. 

Legolas shook his head. “You and your companions must leave these woods with all haste. I will search for the hobbit and bring him to you.”

_But it’s Bilbo,_ I wanted to argue. Instead, my gaze was drawn back to the inky vegetation helplessly. Right now, the vegetation wasn’t moving. Perhaps Sauron could not force the trees into action against their will, but I for one sure didn’t want to test that theory. The guys were right. I had to get out of here. 

Legolas whistled and another elf, this one dark haired, brought forth a dappled mare for me. Legolas checked the saddle and accepted my bag from the same elf, lashing it into place. 

“Legolas, why?” I had to ask, my gesture encompassing all of it: the camp, the supplies, everything. I knew how much he loathed dwarves. I also knew how serious my infractions were, dousing Belegon and setting the dwarves free. Yet here Legolas stood, aiding us. 

I felt the weight of his scrutiny and thought I saw his lips quirk up in the low light. He shook out a cloak and tucked it around me. Bofur held his objections and assisted him. Legolas settled the hood over my head, and I fingered the fabric, finding it exquisite to the touch. The dwarves probably hated it, for I was sure it bore the Elvenking’s colors. I bet myself it was intentional based upon Legolas’s tiny smile. 

Legolas chucked me under the chin when he was finished. “Do you really believe _Ada_ names every stray mortal he encounters ‘daughter’? Or that we do not agree with his decision?”

“Daughter?” Aleks sputtered.

I ignored him, focusing upon Legolas. When put that way…

“You are learning, but still you do not understand your value, _penneth.”_ He nodded off to the side. “And your representative was quite forceful in pleading the necessity of your actions,” he finished with a hint of warning. 

Following his gaze, confused, I began to scan the elves standing there, but one stood out among them all. Rambo himself. “Belegon,” I said.

“Belegon,” Legolas agreed. “Though I believe he has some words for you about leaving him asleep at his post.” 

Mirkwood’s most famous prince lifted his arms in a clear invitation to assist me in mounting my own horse, but I refused, my grasp on Bofur tightening. I swallowed again. No, I’d not be riding solo any time soon. It was hard enough to hide just how much I longed to curl into fetal position and moan. 

Legolas’s too-seeing eyes swept over me. He frowned but let the matter lie. “Trust _Ada,_ Hwinneth,” Legolas said at last. “He does not give his affection lightly.” We both ignored the noises of skepticism from my companions, Gloin’s the loudest. “You _are_ welcome among us. Belegon says the exact details of your mission must remain secret,” and this did not please Legolas at all, “or I would accompany you.”

A quick check of my body led me to believe I was not in danger of hurling on him if I moved, so I reached over and placed a hand on his upper arm, ignoring the unhappy expressions on the other faces around me. “Legolas, if there is one elf in all Arda I know I can trust with this, it is you. The only reason I am not asking your assistance is that you are too important.”

Legolas stared off into space. “So says our Royal Guard,” he said with some frustration. “Yet I am not heir.” His eyes returned to me. “I do not like being kept in the dark. Nor, I might add, does my eldest brother.”

No, I bet not.

Legolas grumbled something under his breath. Was that Quenya? “I do not trust your companions,” he groused in Common.

“Does he speak of us?” Bofur asked with mock surprise, his chest rumbling against my back. “Now I’m hurt. Truly hurt.”

A grin tugged at the corners of my lips. To Legolas, I said, “One day, a dwarf will be your best friend.”

A scornful look passed over his face. “That, I do not believe.” 

Beyond him, Bifur gave me a queer look. 

“Give it time,” I said with forced cheer, the forest’s sick energy intensifying until my stomach began to flip-flop in earnest. “I’ll remind you of this moment in the future.”

“Belegon!” Legolas shouted. The elf in question approached, a black steed following. As the elf saluted, Legolas said, “I tender my brother and new sister into your care.” 

Belegon nodded soberly. Standing there next to Legolas, the scarring across his cheek looked all the more startling. In a world of perfect elves, I wondered how he handled being the only one so marked. 

“We await your return, my friend.”

“I will not fail you,” Belegon swore. 

“You never do,” Legolas replied solemnly. “You saved our Caranoran once. I ask you do the same again should the need arise, and for my _gwathel.”_ His gaze returned to me. “You mind him, Hwinneth.”

“Mind an elf?” Bofur said. “If he’s needing tending, perhaps he should remain at home.”

Legolas glared up at the dwarf, and Bofur responded with a bright, guileless smile. _Goof,_ I thought, lips curling upwards despite my stomach’s miserable gyrations. I’d missed these dwarves, and that was a fact. 

Legolas mounted up and gave a signal. “We’ll drive any remaining spiders from here and find your hobbit. Do not linger. Caranoran.”

Caranoran slipped into the saddle of a horse that looked like ebony in the almost pitch-black conditions. “I will take all care, _gwanur._ Your tutelage has not been for naught.”

Legolas mounted his own steed. “I have every confidence in you,” Legolas said. The two clasped forearms in a very macho type of embrace and then ruined it when Legolas hauled his younger brother close for a heartfelt hug. 

The rest of the elves mounted in unison and formed up in two rows at Legolas’s back. With a last farewell, they trotted off in loose formation.

Leaving us in a glade that shined like a midnight purple, alien planet in my sight.

OoOoOo

They set a brutal pace from the get-go. The black stuff Daphne saw chased them. How, they could not figure out, for Aleks’s satyr eyes detected no animals in pursuit. Invisible to the rest of them, they had proof enough of the migration of the Dark Lord’s plague by the panic that never quite left her eyes and the debilitating sickness that first emptied her stomach and then kept her unable to eat or drink. As they pressed ever onward, Daph grew progressively shakier.

“I doubt spiders are the worst we will see,” Aleks heard the auburn-haired elf, Brethil – one of the three that remained with them – say to Prince Caranoran when they paused long enough to swap Daphne from one horse to another. The strain of even her small weight was enough to tire the horses. None could bear double the entire trip. For this reason, Gloin, too, had to suffer the indignity of riding pillion with elves.

Daphne put her foot down when it came to riding with Aleks, though. Oh, she’d ride with an _elf_ but not her twin. How messed up was that? Aleks had smarted at the insult, but he resolutely held his peace. He understood, really he did, but that didn’t mean he liked it. 

She didn’t sleep. If he had to guess, he’d say she was eavesdropping on the dialog between trees and bushes…though, really, what could plants talk about? _Oh, man, wasn’t that water something else?_ He snorted to himself. Either way, that’s what he figured she did. Well, that and sneak glances his way, a rabidly gun-shy expression on her face.

On the second day – one only marked by the ticks of his _appa’s_ pocket watch – an elf intercepted them with Bilbo in tow. The dwarves made much over the little hobbit, as did Aleks. Daphne cried. Instead of taking time to rejoice over the happy reunion, though, they kept up with their brutal pace. 

Time had settled again into an abstract miasma as Mirkwood’s perpetual night reigned. The trip took three full days. _Long_ days. The exhausted party broke through the last vestiges of Mirkwood’s grasping fingertips with an abruptness startling to behold. Between one step and the next, they traversed from stifling forest to the freedom of the western plains beyond Mirkwood’s edge. 

And Beorn.


	26. A Campfire Chat

### Chapter 25

Aleks could have wept tears of relief, but he was too bloody tired. He dismounted with the air of a man set loose from a life sentence and tottered towards the big guy, borrowed elvish horse – he’d dubbed him Socks – clopping along behind with his head low.

Beorn had received his message. 

“Ah, Little Brother,” the skin-changer greeted, leaving a roaring fire to welcome them. That he’d been anticipating their arrival was plain for he had sustenance and a campsite all prepared. “I have been waiting for you…” His words trickled off when he spotted Daphne slumped before Belegon. The towering man stole her away before the blond-haired elf could do more than squawk.

Aleks smirked through his exhaustion. 

“Are you sure you’re a trained protector?” Bofur asked in a mock whisper. “Because I’m thinking this is the second time you’ve lost your charge without putting up much of a fight.” 

Gloin burst into raucous laughter. The elf scowled and stalked to the fire, his bridle-less horse following obediently behind. The other guard’s violet eyes narrowed in affront. Prince Caranoran watched it all with somber reserve, but his gaze never strayed from Daphne for long.

“Relax,” Aleks said to Belegon. “Beorn is a friend.”

“Aye, as the lad says. _Very_ high strung, aren’t you now?” Bofur said. 

The elf grumbled to himself. “It is my neck upon the block should the lady be injured. Her brother, Legolas, was very clear on that point.”

Aleks whipped around. Only Bifur’s quick intervention saved the pompous elf from receiving Aleks’s fist shoved down his throat. _“I’m_ her brother,” he snarled, his exhaustion vanishing underneath a wave of fury. _“Me.”_

“Is that so?” Caranoran interjected with a definite chill. The silvery prince cocked one brow, his eyes at half-mast.

“Yeah, it’s so,” Aleks snapped.

The elf shook his long, shiny tresses – _They all look like girls,_ Aleks ridiculed to himself – and stepped nearer, ignoring both Bifur and Bombur where they stood protectively at either side of Aleks. Gloin’s big ax thumped upon the ground a few paces away, his eyes narrowed. Bombur actually hefted his borrowed mace higher.

“What claim you had no longer exists,” the elf said in a low, angry voice. “Any ties severed.” Aleks’s vision turned red with each statement. “I was there, naiad. I was there when she ran across Middle Earth in a desperate attempt to reach the only soul upon Arda that she yet trusted after the damage you inflicted with your cruel charade.” 

Aleks winced. “I was wrong--”

_“Wrong?”_ Caranoran pounced, his voice losing degrees until chilled turned into icy frigidity. “She refused to stop, did you know this? She would have fled Rivendell alone with no protection or even provisions but for Lord Glorfindel’s intervention. Even with all he could do, she did not sleep. She did not eat. You attacked the very foundations of her sanity.”

Aleks felt each word like a blow. Bombur’s arm settled around Aleks’s shoulders, the weight steadying. A staunch show of support, that one action.

“No, you are no _brother._ Enemy, perhaps, but no brother. That privilege has been claimed by others more willing to see to the task. Keep away from our Hwinneth, naiad. I will not warn you again.”

The elf stalked off, his frame ramrod straight, and his face so tense it looked chiseled from white marble. 

Aleks couldn’t speak. Each breath was a harsh gasp. He squeezed his hands into fists as he tried to ride out the pain. He’d known he’d wounded her, but he never imaged it had been as bad as the picture the elf painted. No wonder Daph had latched onto these elves. 

But why? _Why_ did she ride to Mirkwood? What madness had claimed her to direct her there? Was there something she’d read that had hinted at a safe haven with the Elvenking? 

_…the only soul on Arda she yet trusted…_

Why would she trust the Elvenking?

“Aleks?” 

He turned blind eyes towards his friend. Bombur’s round face was somber and marked with lines of grief. “Let it go, lad. Let it go.” 

Bifur patted his shoulder. 

“How can I?” he managed to get past the lump in his throat. His sense of guilt grew in weight and size, heavier than any mountain. “How do I bear this?”

It was Bifur who answered. A string of Khuzdul fell from his lips, his dark eyes intent beneath the wild fall of gray-streaked, brown matted hanks of hair framing his face. 

When the dwarf finished, he nodded to Bombur and the younger dwarf told him, “He says the past is behind you. He knows what it is to regret a shameful deed.” A sad glint of acknowledgment appeared in Bifur’s brown eyes. “To try to change the past is an act of futility. Learn from it, lad. Let it change and strengthen you. Always remember the pain it brought so you’ll not be repeating it.”

Aleks’s eyesight wavered, and he reached out a hand to affectionately bump the dwarf’s shoulder with his fist. Bifur caught the fist and closed a hand over it with tight fervor. He knew, Aleks saw. The emotions tearing him up, Bifur knew them intimately. This dwarf who so quietly set about doing what had to be done, never shirking his duties and always quick to lend aid, he’d been right here in Aleks’s shoes. The trappings might be different, but the dwarf had done something shameful, too. 

And he’d lived to become the awesome guy he was now. 

Aleks took a deep breath. “Thanks, man.”

OoOoOo

Bofur smoked his pipe as he whittled upon the ash bracelet he’d been working on for weeks now, his attention as much upon the myriad scenes engraved upon each link of the peg-hinged jewelry as it was upon the interplay between members of their party.

Bilbo kept to himself, busy devouring as much food as his neglected belly could manage. His cheeks were all puffed up like a squirrel. When their gazes met, Bofur winked at him and received a crumb-coated smile in return.

The elves, now, they were a mite bit of a different matter. Each time an elf glanced his way, Bofur grinned back cheerfully, his expression a bit vacuous. Bilbo almost choked on his food as he noticed, but to a man, the elves bought his load of goods and dismissed him as a simpleton. Rather his intent, actually. The three spoke freely before him as they moved among the horses, double checking the dwarves’ care as if they knew nothing of the creatures. Each elf kept his gear close and weapons strapped in place. No sign of relaxing so much as a hair, those three.

Bofur set the bracelet upon his knee and lifted his pipe for another puff, his thoughts racing. If’n he didn’t know better, a dwarf might conclude the elves had a soft spot for the dwarves’ lassie. Belegon and Caranoran most certainly displayed protective natures where she was concerned, and that threw an interesting wrinkle into his plans. Plans that had solidified the instant the lass had jumped to his brother’s defense.

_Och,_ a faint-hearted lad might be discouraged, but Bofur’s eyes lit with excitement. _A thing worth the having is worth the fighting for, my lad,_ his father had oft said. His gaze flicked down to the lass curled up asleep close beside him. Beorn had set her down, and Bofur had been quick to make sure he gained the other seat opposite him. The exhausted lass had roused long enough to dress the skin-changer down quite soundly for daring to get her soused upon their last meeting before she curled up closer to Bofur. The little he’d gleaned from her complaints made him of a mind to hear the rest of the tale at some point. He could not leave his curiosity so a-thirsting, now could he?

He returned to that last panel. Each scene upon the jewelry had one aim: to make a lass laugh. Daphne needed more of that, to his way of thinking. The beloved face of the dog she’d scribbled back in Rivendell stared back up at him – or as near as never mind, given the crude sketch fate had provided him. 

_Ori can teach her a thing or two, there._ He’d put a bug in the young scholar’s ear to see it done. She loved to draw – he’d heard her declare as much – and such a kindness would only strengthen her ties to the dwarves. 

And him, he freely admitted to himself with a ghost of a grin. 

The lassie did not belong among the elves and their stilted formality. She could not _wed_ one…surely. His lips turned downward. No, surely not. She belonged with those closest to her own kind, with companions who would see to it she laughed from the belly, not a polite mockery of the emotion. Elves, he thought, were too serious by spades. 

The last panel. A cheeky bit, he admitted. But he knew lassies. The pup’s floppy ears and brow were perfect, if he did say so himself. But what mesmerized the eye was the way the small pooch had pursed his lips in a silent kiss, his deep-set eyes full of a pleading affection a man could not match. 

Was it enough? 

_Soon,_ he promised himself. _I’ll gain the lass’s ear soon._ She trusted him, and aye, that was a good beginning. She’d not looked to the Durin brothers for aid, she’d chosen _him. Aye, and my kin, too._ That she valued Bombur and Bifur had only raised her in his esteem. Too many a lassie had dismissed Bombur for his obvious appetite. 

Just what Mib adored in her rotund husband, for sure. 

_Aye, we’ll be taking you for our own, Daphne my lass._ She fit with them. With him. _Soon,_ he promised again. Before young Kíli worked up the nerve to approach her. Not that the youngest Durin was not a decent lad, but his mold had not yet seasoned with enough age. He’d yet to grow into the dwarf he would one day become. Kíli did not know himself well enough, to Bofur’s mind, to pursue any lassie.

Much less a lass Bofur was almost convinced was his One. A miracle, it was, to find such a treasure, and one he’d not expected. By Aulë, he’d been stunned by this development, aye he had. He’d fancied his life would play out as it ever had, a life as a bachelor and toymaker. Not a fate he’d minded.

Before. 

He rubbed one thumb over the final panel of the bracelet. He was minding now, and that quite fiercely. _Sorry, my lad, but in this, it is every dwarf for himself._ Though it seemed young Kíli had moved on with his affections, Bofur would not take any risks. 

Aleks, Bifur, Bombur and Gloin trudged over to the campfire. Bofur set the bracelet out of sight upon his lap and his pipe upon his knee, freeing up his hands to dole out the thick loaves of bread Beorn had provided. Not his favorite fare, but the toymaker had eaten his own helping at record speeds. Jerky was all good and well, but soft, cooked food surely did a dwarf good.

“Thanks, Bofur,” Aleks said, his resentful gaze straying towards the elves time and again as he took his meal and seated himself upon a knot of wood Beorn had situated for just that purpose. 

Bofur nodded and lifted his pipe in acknowledgment, inspecting the lad. Aleks’s shoulders curved, bowing under the weight of having his own actions drawn up before him like a mirror. ‘twas a good thing, to Bofur’s mind. The lad had to understand the true cost of his actions so as not to repeat them. Bofur, his brother, his cousin, they’d forgiven Aleks – aye, they had – but they’d not let him become the sort who would do it again.

_He’ll not be repeating it,_ he promised himself. By Durin, Bofur would see to that. He was angry with the lad but not without sympathy. Like Thorin, he’d like a minute or two with the twins’ foster father, Marcus. That one had much explaining to do. 

_He’ll be fine, Bofur my lad,_ he thought to himself, gaze on the satyr. Aleks was a decent sort, recent happenings notwithstanding. He was fixing to become as brave and noble as any dwarf. His focus strayed next to Daphne. _Now you, lass, don’t you be giving him too hard a time before taking him back into your good graces._ The twins had been through enough. He’d do all he could to see them healed and happy. By his beard, he would.

OoOoOo

“We should get moving,” Prince Caranoran broached before Gloin was finished devouring his latest loaf of butter-slathered bread.

Aleks debated pulling his sword. They’d gone days with no sleep and little by way of sustenance. Elves might have the endurance of a hungry grizzly scenting blood, but the rest of them didn’t. 

“Moving?” Bilbo echoed with a crestfallen expression. The hobbit’s dismayed eyes raced from Bofur to Gloin.

“Go?” Beorn asked. The big man rose, both big arms reaching out before him in a giant stretch. “Little Sister needs rest. So does Little Brother, Squirrel and the dwarves.”

_Squ-?_ Aleks figured the man meant Bilbo by the process of elimination, but he didn’t get it. Bofur, meanwhile, fell off his log hooting. 

The elves and Beorn ignored the rest of them. 

Caranoran didn’t seem at all cowed by the skin-changer’s behemoth size, much to Aleks’s disappointment. _Shouldn’t a dude who wears his hair like a girl be a wimp?_ Okay, so the elf had made a good showing for himself with the spiders, Aleks admitted. It wasn’t enough to make Aleks any more inclined to like him. Interfering jerk.

“Yes, they do. However, we have already been beset by more giant spiders than any of us deemed existed in the entirety of Mirkwood.”

Belegon stepped forward, his weaponry somehow not even jingling. “We’ve learned a necromancer rules them from Dol Guldur,” the guard announced. “He emptied the old fortress. Every orc and warg that had been stationed there is now headed in this direction. Their one goal: to find and capture Lady Hwinneth. Daphne.”

“We have not the numbers for a direct confrontation,” Caranoran said with finality.

Aleks rubbed his tired eyes. Gloin mumbled something about cowardice, the redhead facing Mirkwood with shoulders taut. Aleks could see the elves’ point. The problem was, biology couldn’t care less. He and Daph were done, and Bilbo’s head kept dipping downward. Even the Three Bs’ energy seemed dulled. 

“We won’t make it,” he said bluntly. “You guys may not need the sleep, but if we don’t get some zzzs soon, our brains will shut down on us whether we like it or not. Besides, Daphne sent for the Brown Wizard. We have to wait for his arrival.”

“That wizard is unreliable,” Belegon interjected. “According to your words, you may well be asleep should the orcs find us here.” The scarred elf’s attention turned to Aleks’s sister, his lips pursed. “We must away, the sooner the better.”

Brethil piped up. “We must find a way to send word to the king that his daughter remains safe.”

Aleks decided then and there that he’d heard enough of _that._ He stood, tempted to go satyr but knowing his temper too chancy. “He. _Is not._ Her. Father,” he pronounced in tight, even tones. 

The Three Bs rose to their feet, even Bombur whom he’d thought had dozed off. Gloin finished chewing and stood at a slower pace, hands upon his ax.

“You have no say in this, naiad,” Belegon said. The scarred elf’s hale cheek twitched, the corners of his mouth white. 

“I don’t have a say? You elves have no business in this at all!”

Belegon started right for him, hand on the hilt of one of his myriad weapons, but Gloin materialized in his path. “Easy, there, laddie,” the dwarf said as Bifur, Bombur and Bofur lined up behind him, their own weapons at the ready. “No need to be drawing weapons.”

Bombur lifted fleshy hands, his round face earnest. “Aye, there is no reason for this. Lower your weapons.”

“Do not presume to tell me what to do, dwarf,” the elf snapped, his gaze arrowing in upon the rotund dwarf. _“You_ are not vital to the future. I would be only too happy to--”

The guard folded over, gasping for breath like a fish on shore as Bofur’s fist hit his gut like a hammer. Aleks gaped. He hadn't even seen Bofur move. One second Bofur had been behind Gloin, the next he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, his fist in the elf’s belly.

Caranoran and Brethil drew their own weapons.

“You have got to be _kidding me._ I fall asleep for ten minutes, and you guys are at each others’ throats?” Daphne tottered into their midst, hands lifted as if to push weapons back at their owners. The dwarves hastily withdrew theirs, mindful of the danger to her. The elves were slower in doing likewise. She leaned upon Bilbo and glared at each group in turn. “With all that is at stake? Belegon, you at least know how tenuous things are.” 

The elf in question held himself erect, jaw tight. “Lady--”

_“She is not your lady,”_ Aleks burst as his fury was ignited once more. Bifur touched his arm in warning, but he shook him off. “No, Bifur, this needs to be said.” He directed his ire at the interfering, tinsel-haired prince. “She is not your sister. Your father has no claim on her.”

“Shouldn’t that be my decision?” Daphne asked softly with anger of her own, pivoting to face him. “Don’t I get a say in who I choose to call family?” 

Okay, that had come out wrong. He admitted it. He tried to backpedal in his thoughts but then reconsidered. Maybe this had to happen. That Elvenking claimed Daph as his daughter and had played upon her need for acceptance like another would a fiddle. The king’s supposed affection was pure bunk - Aleks didn’t buy it now any more than he’d believed it in the throne room. For him to call Daphne daughter was a complete insult to their _real_ father. Besides, if she needed a male to look up to, the Company was full of dwarves more deserving of her trust. 

With as much gentleness as he could muster, Aleks broached, “Daph, he’s not your father.”

The green in her eyes flamed like an inferno before disappearing as her eyes hooded. The dwarves went still, and the elves watched his sister like a hawk, all set to measure her words. “What is it you really want to say, Aleks?” she asked icily, straightening. Her face drained of expression, and the Ice Princess returned before his eyes.

A glance towards the dwarves showed two of four pairs of eyes warning him to back off, but in this, he wouldn’t. That elf had some hold on her, and it had to be destroyed before Thranduil turned on her as he most certainly would. She’d been hurt enough. Aleks wouldn’t stand by and watch more come her way. 

“I’m saying he’s playing you.” There, he said it. 

The elves bristled with insult, but Daphne’s hand whipped up, commanding them to silence. Caranoran moved to her side, his presence suddenly threatening.

“Notice how they surround you the instant the subject is raised,” Aleks accused.

“He’s playing me,” she repeated flatly.

“He’s the Elvenking, Daph. Yes, he’s playing you. Do you really think he has any feelings for some mortal? He’s _using_ you.”

“Oh, you mean like _you_ did?” she retorted, the words like a slap across his face. 

Aleks flinched. “Daph…” He couldn’t back down. This was too important. 

Daphne’s chin wobbled but she didn’t recant her words. “You will watch your tongue, Aleks, when you speak of the Elvenking.”

“He’s a liar and a traitor,” Aleks roared. “You should know that - you know the history here. Or did you skip over the details of how he betrayed the dwarves and broke their alliance? How he turned away because they refused to cater to his greed?”

“You know nothing about it, Aleks,” she shouted back. “Nothing about _him. How dare you judge?_ You, who turned against every bond of family or decency with what you pulled?”

“He betrayed Thorin!”

“Thorin doesn’t have all the facts!” she screeched. “Don’t you dare bring him into this.”

A cold worry wormed its way into his heart. Shaking with fury – why could she not _listen?_ – he asked between gritted teeth, “Just where do your loyalties lie?”

“What?” She ended on a high note.

“Your loyalties,” Aleks bit out. “Are you loyal to Thorin? Or that honorless _elf?”_

She turned white, her body shaking. “You have no idea what you are talking about, Aleks.”

“I know he betrayed Thorin. So again I ask, _where do your loyalties lie?”_

Her chin lifted. “Thranduil never betrayed Thorin.”

_Oh no._ She was choosing that monster. “I guess that answers that.” _I should have known the Ice Princess would ruin things._ Old bitterness swelled. How could he have lost sight of how cold she could be? Hadn’t she long ago proved beyond doubt how flawed her judgment was?

“No,” she growled. “It doesn’t, you hypocritical jerk. You want to truth? Well sit down.” She pointed to a spot on the ground. _“Park it.”_

Only Bifur’s wordless prompting got his butt in contact with the ground, because his body vibrated with outrage. Aleks opened his mouth to voice just that when Bofur said, “You’ll be holding your words, Aleks, or I’ll thump you myself. You accused the lass. Now, it is her turn to speak.”

He glared at the toymaker, and the toymaker stared him down. “He betrayed _Thorin,”_ Aleks stressed.

“Aye, so you pointed out, and she said there was more to the story. I’ll be hearing it from her, for I’ve a mind to judge for myself.” To Daphne, “You do realize, lass, it is our king you’ll be speaking of?” No doubting the sober warning in his voice.

Daphne nodded, then grabbed Caranoran’s arm as she weaved on her feet.

“Hwinneth?” the elf asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

She smiled at the elf - _smiled!_ \- and leaned into his much taller frame. “Just tired and hungry. I feel hollow to my toes.” She scrunched her nose and allowed the elf to aid her to a seat beside Beorn. Bilbo promptly thrust a hefty hunk of bread at her, the piece dripping with honey.

Aleks sat and fumed as she consumed the bread. He wasn’t sure when it was, if it was around the sixth bite or the seventh, but Thorin’s words from before returned to haunt him. It _wasn’t_ over. The repercussions to what he’d done lived on, and here he was, driving her away again with his angry accusations. 

As the dwarves often said, _Mahal._ He pawed his face, weary beyond words. _If I don’t fix this, she’ll never let me in._ Old habit had goaded him into treating her as he had in the past. If he really wanted to change the man he was becoming, it was time to step up to the plate.

“Look, Daph, I’m sorry,” he tried. She froze mid-chew, looking for all the world like a deer in headlights. Aleks hurried on before she could clear her mouth and retort. “You’re right. I don’t know him. All I can base my assumptions on is what Thorin recounted for me and our treatment by the elves when they captured us.” He tried a wry smile, hoping she’d return it. “You must admit, things were pretty tense in that throne room.”

She swallowed so fast, Aleks feared she’d choke on her food. “What are you doing, Aleks?” she asked.

He exhaled with a sigh. “Trying to change who I’m becoming. That’s the honest truth. I’m guessing I destroyed our twin bond, because you didn’t answer when I called for you before.” He chafed his legs. “If not for that, I could prove my words.”

Her lips compressed, and she fidgeted with the food in her hands. Caranoran placed a hand upon her shoulder. _“Penneth,_ eat.”

She ripped off another hunk and shoved it between her lips, her glare never leaving Aleks. 

Aleks leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. “Tell me where I’m wrong,” he urged, this time sincerely. “Tell me what I’m missing.”

“You are such a lying sack of--” A big hand clamped over her mouth. Daphne jerked free of Beorn and ignored his calm, “Little Sister.” “What is this, Aleks, this…this… _game,”_ she pounced upon the word like a cat with a mouse. “What, you think this act will redeem you in the sight of your friends? You are full of it. The whole ‘a better man’ act is good, I’ll give you that, but you’ve over used it. You are such a waste of space,” she spat, chest heaving and hands fisted beside her.

Aleks stared, pain radiating through him. He could feel eyes upon them and burned with her indictment. He swallowed thickly, his chest tight, and rasped, “That’s cold, Daph. Really cold.”

She looked away as if unwilling to hold his gaze, and her lower lip disappeared into her mouth. 

“Enough,” Beorn decreed. “Little Sister, your words are venom.” She startled, her eyes wide. 

“If you knew--” she began.

“No. No excuses. You spoke to harm, and that is not you.”

OoOoOo

_…not you…_

Oh, if only he knew. I felt a hysterical laugh welling up inside. My gaze was drawn to Mirkwood’s shadow, and a bereft feeling touched me. I wanted to return to the sanctuary of the Elvenking’s Halls as it’d been before the dwarves’ arrival in the most desperate way.

“Little Sister?” Beorn again, his voice softer, kinder.

My worst fears were being realized. I was turning into Aleks. The words that spewed forth from my mouth were as poisonous as any Grima would utter. I’d aimed my tongue like a razor, cutting to bleed. I ran hands through my hair and fisted them. Hatred and anger. How had it come to this? 

“I told you once. I will not repeat myself. Leave her alone, naiad.” 

At Caranoran’s silky words, my head jerked up. Aleks looked ready to explode, only Bifur’s firm grasp keeping his rear end in contact with the ground.

“That will not work,” Beorn said in a kindly enough fashion. “This, you know.”

Caranoran’s beautiful eyes narrowed upon the skin-changer. 

“There will be no healing for either of the naiads until this is resolved. They must speak,” Beorn continued. 

“I will not allow Hwinneth to be further harmed. She has shed enough tears on this matter,” Caranoran stated. 

Eyes panned my way. Cheeks burning in mortification, resentful at having my weakness paraded before _Aleks_ of all people, I stared at my foster brother. At last, I forced a facsimile of a smile to my lips, masking my hurt. With a shrug and a weak laugh, I said, “True enough. I was a leaky faucet when I arrived, wasn’t I?” Understatement. And Caranoran knew better than anyone just how much of an understatement that was. Any anger at him faded. He’d born the brunt of my pain. My smile softened. “At least until someone short-sheeted my bed,” I said, desperate for some levity.

Caranoran’s slow, answering grin rewarded me. “And did you not repay me in kind?”

“I’ve been enjoying our game,” I admitted, scratching my nose.

“Game?” he teased. “I thought you said it was war?”

I waved a hand. “Semantics. Besides, you turned my hair blue.”

“Sapphire.”

“Same difference.”

The tension dropped exponentially, but it had the potential to blow up again. I still felt like slashing at Aleks in any way I could. Make him hurt as he’d hurt me. What was I becoming?

“You were going to tell me where I was wrong.” Aleks’s calm intrusion shocked me. Shouldn’t he be yelling at me? 

I lifted my eyes to him, and my own words replayed through my mind. _Appa_ would be so ashamed. An avalanche of guilt drove me to speech. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, looking away. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Dare I believe that hoarse voice? 

_“Och,_ pass me yer handkerchief, Master Baggins.” Bofur’s feigned wobbly voice dragged a laugh from me, kicking and screaming. Aleks smiled. The toymaker dropped the charade and said with absolute sobriety, “’tis done.” He made eye contact with us both, waited until we felt the impact in turn. “You are twins. Siblings. You’ve both been hurt and done the hurting. No more.” 

Bifur nodded emphatically and set down his boar spear. Standing, he walked over to me and claimed my hand. With his free hand, he then beckoned to Beorn for more food. That provided, he led me to where Aleks and Bofur sat, seated himself and pulled me down beside him.

Next to Aleks. 

Caranoran caught my gaze, arched a brow. Something in the rigid lines of his face told me that if I objected, he’d extricate me. Fast. A part of me wanted nothing more, but the rest of me knew by wimping out and doing so, it would do nothing but increase the likelihood of a real confrontation between the elves and dwarves. That, I wouldn’t allow. No, I _couldn’t_ allow, rather. Too much was on the line. Compressing my lips, I lifted one shoulder. 

Caranoran nodded minutely, but my foster brother and friend didn’t relax his vigilance. 

Food got shoved into my hands, and a silent command to eat was conveyed through a sharp gesture from Bifur. I exchanged a wide-eyed stare with Aleks, a short, leery one but an exchange nonetheless. I tore a bite of bread from the hunk in my hands and chewed. Bifur grunted with satisfaction and pulled out a small knife and a rod of wood. He began to whittle, whistling between his teeth. 

“Now then. I believe you were about to tell Master Aleks and the rest of us why you trust the Elvenking?” Bilbo piped up the second my meal was finished. 

_Thank you, Bilbo,_ I mouthed. His polite, business-like tone did much to dispel the last of the mood I’d turned ugly.

I leaned into Bifur, needing that reassuring contact as I turned my attention to my brother. _We are so messed up._ Elrohir and Elladan, we were not. I wondered idly if the famous twin sons of Elrond had even been in Rivendell while I’d been there. Rubbing fingers along the knees of my jeans, I chose my words with care. “The disease infecting Mirkwood is a direct attack upon the Elvenking. I don’t remember if I told you that.” 

“I heard about it,” Aleks said, his green eyes cautious as they met mine. 

I kept wanting to flinch away, the anger and hurt still very much present and accounted for. This was so unfair! Smothering my druthers, I bowed to necessity and plowed on. “The Elvenking is connected to his lands.” I shifted a few degrees to bring the others into my line of sight. “Just as _he_ is trying to destroy the line of Durin, he’s tried to corrupt the Elvenking.”

“Using that sickness,” Aleks reiterated as if needing further confirmation before he believed it.

“Using the sickness,” I agreed. I plucked some grass and fiddled with it. “Thranduil will not surrender. He’s been under siege for decades, and that’s where you are wrong. Aleks, the invasion on his lands had just begun when Thror invited him to Erebor for a visit. I don’t know what you were told of Thorin’s grandfather, but the dwarf was devoured by dragon sickness - gold sickness, basically. He could see nothing but his treasures. Not his son, not his grandchildren, and certainly not his ally. When Thranduil arrived, Thror tried to rub Thranduil’s nose in his superiority by showing off his wealth.”

Bifur hummed under his breath, the even sounds of his knife whittling that piece of wood a constant backdrop. When I turned to him, he shrugged and nodded, pretty much declaring my words accurate. Gloin seated himself beyond Bofur and began to sharpen his ax’s blade. 

“Daph,” Aleks started.

I shook my head. “Hear me out.” Because if he began bashing Thranduil again, I wasn’t sure I could contain myself. _Gwathadar_ had saved me and sheltered me. I would not listen to the person who’d made my life an endless misery insult him. Not without some serious retaliation. 

I flicked the few strands of grass from me. “He was losing his kingdom. His people were in danger, and whether you believe it or not, he loves his people as much as Thorin does his. He’d do just about anything to protect them.” I returned to my narrative. “Thror presented him with a chest of white gems.” A wry smile. “According to Thranduil, they glittered like pure starlight. He _was_ entranced by them, no doubt about it. But what really caught his attention was that they seemed to magnify his own abilities. He knew that with those gems, he could ward off the shadow invading his lands, and so he humbled himself and asked Thror for his aid, explaining that his people were at risk.”

A swift inhale from Gloin. The whittling sounds from my other side halted. 

Bofur leaned forward, his eyes intense beneath the brim of his floppy, winged hat. “Do you believe him then, Daphne?” 

My gaze drifted beyond Aleks to the other toymaker. “He can’t lie to me, Bofur.”

Gloin snorted. “That’s a fool’s tale, lassie.” It was gently enough stated but bald all the same.

“No, I mean it. He _can’t_ lie to me, and I can’t lie to him. We met through our bond with those woods.” I rushed to explain as Gloin looked ready to jump in again. “I was trying to heal a tree after it saved Radagast and me from a party of orcs. The disease - the Dark Lord - infected me so fast, I couldn’t get a handle on it. I fought, but I was losing. That’s how I met Thranduil. His energy suffuses those woods,” I said with a chin nod towards Mirkwood. “I saw this golden energy flowing towards me as fast as it could, and it was him. He saved me. And in the process, we saw each other. Not with eyes or anything superficial, but each other’s…essence, I suppose you could say. I _know_ him. He knows me. If I prevaricate – and I have when the subject of the future was at stake – he recognizes it immediately. I can’t fool him.”

Gloin harrumphed. 

Bofur’s thick brows met over his nose, and he frowned, his gaze upon Mirkwood’s black silhouette. “How can it be Thorin has not heard of this?” Bofur asked. 

“Ye may not be remembering it, laddie, but old Thrain tried his best to shield Thorin, Dís and Frerin from Thror,” Gloin said. “That doesn’t mean I’m believing the elf, mind,” he cautioned me. “But if it happened like the lass says, Thrain would not have wanted to tell his son of Thror’s lapse in honor.”

“Ye’d think Balin would have known,” Bofur said around his pipe.

Gloin lifted and dropped a hand. “Balin is a respected adviser, no doubt. Perhaps he would…” Another glance my way “…if such an event occurred.” 

“Oh, it happened,” Caranoran interjected. “And to address your comment, Master Gloin, your Balin was _not_ present. My _adar_ made his appeal in private. Only the two kings and their heirs were present. My eldest brother spoke of the event often. Thror was demeaning. He mocked _Adar_ and said he’d part with not one gem even if it would save every elf in the Greatwood. He accused _Adar_ of using deceit to raid his coffers.” No question how Caranoran felt about the whole situation. His lips looked like they’d bitten into something bitterly sour.

The dwarves glanced among themselves. It was Bombur who spoke first, turning my way with a huge sigh. “Lassie, your defense of the Elvenking aside…” He waited until my attention was his and nodded sadly. “Even supposing your tale to be true, the Elvenking did come to watch our misery on the day of Smaug’s firestorm. That does not speak well of him.”

“He didn--” I began, only to be interrupted by Caranoran’s calm, _“Adar_ rode to aid the men of Dale. What remained of them.” His beautiful malachite eyes surveyed the dwarves with care. “Our alliance with the dwarves of Erebor ended when Thror denied my _adar’s_ request for aid. Not so with the men.”

Aleks skipped a stone out of camp. “Why didn’t he help them? They had women and children.”

“Disease and mayhem! Lies! All lies!” a new voice intruded. 

The dwarves were on their feet before the final syllable was uttered, weapons brandished. The elves remained seated with smirks on their faces. From their vantage point, Radagast’s arrival was no surprise. 

The thin wizard stepped into our circle, his twisted rowan staff in one hand and a fey smile upon his face. “Such a story,” he continued, those hazel eyes scanning our party but not meeting anyone’s eyes. The expression on his face was just this side of crazed.

_Not this again,_ I groaned to myself. Aloud, I sufficed with a firm, “No.” 

He blinked at me owlishly.

“Really. No. Cut the act. You and I both know that of all the Istari, you are probably the canniest.” Then out of fairness, “No offense to Gandalf.”

The idiotic expression dropped from his face with a sigh big enough to fell trees. “Green-child, you are a trial. Tinkering with an old man’s reputation is not done. It just isn’t done.”

I grinned cheekily and rose to my feet to greet him, my balance just a bit uncertain. Bifur steadied me. 

“And,” he added with a couple thumps of his staff upon the ground, “you have been ill.” Hazel eyes swept over me, again skirting around mine. 

“I’m fine.”

He snorted. “Stubborn.” His attention turned to the ferret around his neck as it chittered to him. “Too right, Toby. Yes, indeed.”

The elves looked bemused. Bofur grinned, his pipe finding his lips. _“In_ -teresting friends, my lass. Aye, interesting.”

Radagast frowned but ignored the dwarf. “I came for something.” Grizzled brows pressed together. “What was it? Oh, it was on the tip of my tongue.” His hands flapped, and he turned this way and that as if searching for his lost brain.

He _really_ didn’t wish to associate with people, I decided. “We need your help, and we’ll _promise_ not to breathe a word about your intelligence when this is over.”

Shrewd eyes returned to me. “You will ruin everything, leaf-child.”

“You’ve done a good job establishing your uselessness,” I told him with blunt candor. “No one would believe us.”

“Truly?” The guy actually looked hopeful.

Aleks drawled, “I’m not sure I’m believing it now.”

Those hazel eyes turned intent as they inspected Aleks. “Ah, yes. I remember. The other naiad. Aleks, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes,” Aleks said, suddenly wary.

Radagast’s head bobbed. “Good, good.” To me, “Sit before you fall over.” Another frown. “Perhaps you might lie down. You are in deplorable condition. Again,” he stressed.

As if his words demolished the prop keeping me upright and functional, my body’s ails crashed down upon me. _Sleep._ I really, really wanted nothing so much as some uninterrupted sleep. But too much had to be said. Too much done. 

“Aye, lass. You turn in. We’ll fill in the wizard,” Bofur offered around a wide, pipe-filled grin.

“No. The wizard has arrived. We have been patient, but it is time to depart,” Caranoran interjected flatly.

“Depart?” I echoed. “Why do we have to leave?” What was wrong with enjoying Beorn’s nice, comfy campsite?

Caranoran shook his head. “I am sorry, but _Adar_ told us Dol Guldur was emptied. Everything _he_ has is searching for you.”

I wobbled and fell on my butt. Or rather, I would have had Bifur not caught me and eased me to the ground. “Emptied it?”

“How came your father by this knowledge?” Radagast asked in a razor-sharp tone.

Caranoran straightened. “He--”

Radagast waved the information away. He turned to me. “What is happening, green-child?”

Did he want the Cliff’s Notes or the Extended Version? “Belegon, did you bring my ebook reader?” I asked, my own voice echoing oddly in my ears.

Rambo cleared his throat, and a part of me knew, just _knew_ something else had happened I was not going to like. “I regret to inform you, Lady Hwinneth…”

“Who is Hwinneth?” Radagast interrupted.

“That would be the lass,” Bombur said, nodding with a helpful smile. 

“…that my lord, Prince Gellamon…” Belegon doggedly persisted. 

“But she had a name,” Radagast said with a confused look. 

“No. Really,” I told the wizard, aiming a finger his way. “Stop it. No one here is buying the stupid act.”

“Stupid,” the wizard reiterated with affront.

“…confiscated the book before I departed from Mirkwood,” Belegon finished with a flourish, plainly happy to have gotten all that said. 

“Yes, stupid. You carry the act a little too far,” I informed the wizard.

He hummed absently, still refusing to make eye contact. “That is a matter of opinion, my young naiad. Do I have exiled dwarf kings knocking upon my door? Or a White Council commanding my presence?”

I frowned at him good, then spun on my tailbone towards Belegon, his words finally registering. “You left _the book_ with the crown prince? Are you mad?”

“What book?” Bilbo asked.

_“The_ book!” I cried, waving hands in the air. “The book with all the juicy tidbits about how the future will play out here in Middle Earth.” 

Silence.

“Pardon me, but I don’t believe I caught that.” I returned to find a very intent wizard making huge eye contact with me.

I coughed into one fist, toyed with some grass with my toes. “Well, you see--”

“What is this about knowing the future?” he demanded. When he marched towards me, Bifur and Bofur leaped to their feet, but the wizard waggled a hand at them. “Oh, for pity’s sake, I’ll not harm the girl. Sit, sit.” A frown. “And you stay seated, child,” he said to me. “What _have_ you done to yourself now?”

“We traveled through Mirkwood,” I explained.

Grizzled eyebrows arched upward. “You were not so careless as to attempt another healing?” 

“The disease followed her through the woods like a living creature on the hunt,” Caranoran interjected. When Radagast’s body panned his way, my foster brother bowed. “Prince Caranoran Thran--”

The wizard returned to me, his disinterest evident. I threw Caranoran an apologetic look, and the prince’s thin-lipped expression softened to wry humor. 

“It followed you?” Radagast asked.

_“It_ is the least of it,” Belegon said. When Radagast’s eyes passed him by, he hurried to add, _“It_ is a disease created by the Dark Lord. The necromancer is Sauron returned, and he has decided to seek retribution through Lady Hwinneth. I expect we’ll have hordes of orcs and wargs swarming these lands very soon.”

Radagast’s lanky body went still. His head turned in slow motion until hazel eyes locked with mine. “You will tell me all after we remove ourselves from this site. I know of a better place to rest which the orcs would be challenged to find.” To the others, “Come, come. Hurry now, we must away.”

I scrubbed at my face, my eyes burning with fatigue. Then, I let Bifur help me to my feet and prod me towards my gear.


	27. Once Bitten, Twice Shy

### Chapter 26

“Lass, ye wouldn’t want us to be thinking you favor the elves, now, would you?” 

The hangdog expression staring down at me matched the tone of voice, but no way could I miss the humor sparkling through Bofur’s eyes like soda pop fizz. 

I’d been making my way to where my foster brother waited, but I halted and craned my neck to look up at the dwarf teasing me from the back of his horse. 

He reached down with one hand, waggling some fingers. “Ride with me,” he coaxed. 

I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Bofur. I did. And I’d missed his zany way of looking at things as much as I’d missed Bombur’s kindness. But. Riding with Bofur would plant me in Aleks’s vicinity. I wasn’t sure I could endure more of him this night. I wanted freedom from his oppressive presence…and the dwarves. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair, but a part of me recognized at a base level how desperate Aleks must have been to ensure I did not become a part of the dwarves’ lives. Bottom line, his fake regret aside, I was not waiting around for Aleks to aim his barrel at me again. Once bitten, twice shy. This chick didn’t need a second round to be convinced to give them all, dwarves and Aleks alike, a wide berth. 

I adored Bombur. I like Bofur and Bifur. I enjoyed time with Bilbo. But for my own safety, I had to avoid them, because I really didn’t want to imagine what Aleks might dream up for round two. 

“Lass?” All humor evaporated from his face like an ice cube left on hot tarmac. Concern took its place as his hand returned to his side. 

I was such a heel. “Bofur,” I said, hand clasping his ankle. I couldn’t so much as lift my eyes to his again. Instead, I studied the scuffed, worn leather of his boot and the sturdy weave of his trousers. 

“Ride with me,” he said again. “Talk to me, lass.” 

Bombur rode up on my other flank, his round face somber. 

I exhaled, cheeks puffing, and turned to the side, chafing under their scrutiny. My wandering gaze found Aleks, and my resolve hardened. Nope, not risking it. Returning to Bofur, I decided to stall. Maybe after I got some rest, things would look brighter. I didn’t much expect they would, but… I didn’t want to hurt him. “Bofur, I’m too tired for more drama today. I’m at my limit.”

“Aye?” Bofur said, perking up. “Then it is good we are not dramatic elves. You need to watch them for that, lass.”

“Oh, aye,” Bombur said, face wreathed with a big, innocent smile. 

I cut their attempt to divert off at the pass. “I’m not riding near Aleks,” I stated flatly. 

The brothers exchanged short, swift looks. It was Bombur who answered. “We’ll not ask it of you, my friend.”

_My friend._ I inwardly cringed. I sure wasn’t acting like a friend, was I? Guilt prodded my frustration past the boiling point. “Don’t you get it?” I burst, facing him. “You’re Aleks’s,” I said. “Look at the lengths he went through to make sure he’d never have to share you with me.” 

Bombur’s jaw dropped. 

“No, lass,” Bofur said, causing me to turn again to bring him back into view. “You’ve naught to fear.”

“You don’t know that,” I said with some bitterness. I hugged my middle, my eyesight going wonky with tears. That I blamed Aleks for, too. We were descended from the Maple and Laurel lines, yet here I was, acting pure Weeping Willow. _If his goal was to drive me insane, maybe he succeeded,_ a part of me thought. I sure acted like I needed the padded walls and some reeds to weave. I took a big inhale. Refocused upon Bofur. “I can’t risk that again. If he does an about-face, I do not want to be in his line of fire.” 

_Unfair, Daphne._ Even as I castigated myself, the memory of Aleks’s charade proved too strong for me to budge. 

At least, not without help. Bofur leaned over with no warning and hoisted me before him in the saddle. I squawked, and he divested me of the tote before I could protest, tossing it to his brother, who strapped it to his saddle. Hot words of objection died before passing my lips at the hurt look upon both dwarves’ faces. 

“Do we mean so little that you’d toss us aside so readily, lass?” Bombur asked, the sentiment clearly echoed by Bofur based upon the frown upon his face. 

Of their own volition, my fingers wound around the open fabric of Bofur’s jacket. His hands, perpetually encased in those fingerless gloves, stopped my fidgeting by pressing over them. My eyes lifted to his. “I don’t trust him,” I told him. 

“Aye, I can see that,” he said in a low voice. “What we’d not expected – and we should have, lass – is that now, you’ve learned to fear him, too.”

_Fear him?_ My spine snapped straight. “I do _not…”_ Only then did my brain catch up with my flapping, blustering lips, snapping them shut on the rest of my denial. Fear Aleks? You betcha. I’d almost rather be back in Dol Guldur, and that was saying something. 

Aleks and I had traveled together for over a day before the dwarves and elves had caught up with us. Aleks had been cordial. _Nice._ The longer we’d been forced into each other’s company, the higher my fear had climbed, because I remembered full well what a nice Aleks heralded. My defenses threatened to crumble as some sick, weak part of me again hoped that this time, he meant it. 

Bofur and Bombur waited me out. My hold on Bofur’s coat tightened, releasing a residual odor of pipeweed into the air. Unable to hold his gaze, I stared at his coat. And nodded my head. “Shouldn’t I?” I asked in a whisper. 

Before either dwarf could respond, another horse appeared opposite Bombur. Radagast. If Bofur didn’t have a steadying hand on me, I might have fallen off the horse, my surprise was so complete. The Brown Wizard sat upon a dappled gray with perfect poise, his bony hands loose about the reins.

“What about your rabbits?” I blurted.

Hazel eyes swept past me, never connecting. “No sign of orcs. We may yet escape detection. Hurry, now. We must away.” He clucked his horse into a trot without waiting for a response. 

My gaze returned to our abandoned camp and my lips pursed in a silent whistle to find it pristine. I didn’t know if it was Radagast or Beorn, but someone had wiped out all traces that we’d been there. Radagast’s rabbit-drawn sled was nowhere in sight. 

My eyes caught upon Caranoran’s. My foster brother’s face was pensive, worried. He arched one brow in silent demand. Knowing he’d hear me without the need to raise my voice, I said, “I’m okay.” The second brow joined the first, and I found a smile. “Alright,” I amended, ignoring the strange looks passing between the dwarves. “Not okay. Not yet. But I’m getting there.” 

Caranoran gestured towards my two dwarf companions, and again, I read the question. If I said the word, he’d have me safe on his horse so fast it couldn’t be clocked. I glanced again at Bombur, then Bofur. My throat tightened. I didn’t want to hurt them. What kind of coward was I that I’d trample on their feelings like that? That I’d repay their overtures of friendship with a slap across the face? I decided to try and be brave. Aleks had stolen enough. Why was I allowing him to deprive me of these guys? To my foster brother and friend, “If it’s alright with you, I’ll ride with Bofur for now.” 

Caranoran nodded and fell in behind Radagast, Brethil beside him. Bilbo took up the next position upon Nibenroch, followed by Aleks (Gloin seated behind him) and Bifur. Belegon must have received his own marching orders, for he waited patiently upon his own mount, not moving. His attention largely centered around me.

Beorn, I saw when I searched for him, was nothing more than a dark, furry shadow that disappeared moments later into the brush near Mirkwood’s outer reaches. 

“Lass?” At Bofur’s soft voice, I looked up into his face. He tapped the tip of my nose with one blunt finger. “I’m wanting you to hear me. Aleks regrets his actions.” The finger lifted when I began to object. “Nay, I do not expect you to believe just yet. But I ask this: do you think we’d allow him to do such a thing again? On this, ye have my solemn word. I’ll not sit idly by if I believe he intends you harm.”

Bombur nodded and added his own oar. “Thorin warned him. We’ll not allow him to become the sort to ever repeat his actions.” The portly dwarf chuckled to himself with a smile. “Aleks has not been best pleased by the discipline Dwalin meted out in the Elvenking’s Halls.” 

Something in Bofur’s eyes pulled at me for a long heartbeat. Bottom line, I did trust him. I trusted both of them. Tugging on his coat again, I told him, “You two, I trust.”

That must have satisfied them, for a moment later, we followed the others away from Mirkwood.

OoOoOo

Aleks juggled a handful of animals through invisible fingers stretched out behind them. Nothing against the wizard, but he trusted him as much as he trusted the Elvenking. His sister, he thought with a brief burst of resentment, had lousy judgment.

Guilt. Aleks scratched at a mosquito bite on the back of his hand, then _oof_ ed as Gloin lost his balance and once again squeezed the life from him. Now he understood why Bifur had been so bloody amused when Aleks had offered to take the redhead on his horse. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the dwarf in question said around a harrumph. Aleks thought he detected some muttered comment denigrating horses in general, but he didn’t pursue it, focusing instead upon what his animal helpers told him. 

Movement in Mirkwood. Not close, not yet, but some force was definitely headed their way. Whether that was the Elvenking come to reclaim Daph – no one could tell _him_ it wasn’t a possibility – or the expected orcs, he couldn’t ascertain as of yet. He just knew based upon what some of his owls spied that there was movement beneath the trees miles from the border. 

He returned to listening in upon his sister. She was afraid of him. Aleks ground his teeth together. _Better to know what I’m up against,_ he told himself. Though how he was supposed to fix things if she started avoiding him, he hadn’t the foggiest. Before the attack of the huge Mirkwood spiders, she’d had to rely upon him and Bilbo. Now, not so much. Now, he thought with some bitterness, the elves were here.

_Bifur will help me._ Bofur, too, probably. Aleks rolled his shoulders, letting go of frustration. Somewhere along the line, he’d equaled fixing this breach with Daph to absolution. Wrong, right, he didn’t know, but the satyr side of him was determined to see this through. Aleks wanted to become what he should have been, and a part of that included his sister’s protector. 

His lips twisted. No way would she accept him in that role. Not yet. He’d wronged her badly. Aleks glanced over his shoulder. _Mahal, Daph. Let me fix this._

Radagast led them through the night. Bifur tied Bilbo to his saddle after he nodded off the second time, and Daph fell asleep curled up against Bofur. Aleks and Caranoran both offered to take her from the dwarf, but Bofur had waved them off with a quirky grin. “And lose this opportunity to hold a pretty lass?” he’d asked with a wink. “I may look the fool at times, lads, but this dwarf knows a good thing when he’s got it.”

Gloin had chortled and nodded his head. Bifur had smiled briefly. 

The elves acted like no word had been spoken, aloof. _Maybe that’s why Daph gets along with elves,_ a small voice suggested. _The Ice Princess would fit in well with them._ Aleks regretted the thought as soon as it occurred to him. Changing, he was finding, was easier said than done. He turned to Bifur once more, and he gained reassurance by the older toymaker’s confident, easy-going ways. If Bifur could do it, Aleks could do it, too.

OoOoOo

I awoke to find myself surrounded by sleeping, and loudly snoring, male bodies. Bofur and Bombur had me sandwiched between them, protecting me as they’d promised.

Where were we? I squinted overhead and found sheer shelves of dirt rising up a good thirty feet or so on either side of us. We were in a cleft of some sort with heavy foliage – trees, bushes, and vines – filtering the sunlight overhead. 

“Peace, lady. We are safe for the moment.”

Craning my head, I located Belegon seated upon a boulder with his back to me, a poled weapon of some sort across his lap and his spine straight as the shaft of the weapon in question. 

Safe. I tested the inner bounds of my psyche and found them much improved this day. _Sleep will do that for you._ I decided to give myself a break for the waterworks of the night before. The trip through Mirkwood had been grueling on us all. I was relieved I’d not damaged my relationships with the dwarves beyond repair, as emotionally strung out as I’d been. They didn’t deserve to suffer the backlash for Aleks’s perfidy. 

Prodding my body to a seat, I leaned on one arm, the opposite hand batting loose hair from my face. The dwarves really were adorable with the snoring-thing. It would probably get old after a while, but right then, it struck me as cute. Bilbo slept on his back with hands folded ever so properly over his chest. Brethil, the auburn-haired elf presumably assigned to Caranoran, sat with his back to a tree trunk, eyes glassy in reverie. Caranoran…

Impish glee filled me. Rare, indeed, to rouse before him. After our last bout of jokes, he’d come out the clear victor. What I had in mind for retaliation was old and trite, but given the worry I’d seen directed my way the night before, I figured it would work in a pinch to let him know I was okay. And get the ball rolling. 

I eased out from my spot, careful not to jostle Bombur or Bofur, and tip-toed towards my silver-haired brother. Bifur, as I passed over him, cracked his eyes open. I pressed a finger to my lips and winked at him before continuing on. The dwarf grinned, his head turning to follow my progress. 

It took no time at all to tie Caranoran’s boot laces together, though it was unnerving as all get-out doing so when his eyes were open. How elves could sleep like that, I couldn’t fathom. Over a month in their company, and I was no closer to getting used to it. 

Satisfied with my handiwork, I picked my way back over snoozing bodies to Belegon’s side. Climbing up on the boulder beside him, I wrapped arms around my knees. 

“He will pay you in kind,” my Royal Guard warned. 

Resting my chin upon my knees, I answered, “I hope so.” And smiled up at him. Changing the subject, “Where are Radagast and Beorn?”

“They have taken the horses to Beorn’s farm,” Belegon told me, smoothing a cloth over the wooden shaft of his weapon. 

Brows rising, I verified with a turn of the head that yes, indeed, the horses were all gone. Not to sound doubtful but, “Is that a good idea?”

Belegon’s lips twitched, his cornflower blue eyes dancing. “Our road takes us by paths not suitable for horses. Radagast assured us this is the safest route.”

“Orcs?”

“We have not yet seen any,” Belegon reassured. “Perhaps, this danger will pass us by.”

Since the only wood in reach belonged to his weapon, I leaned over and gave it a couple good raps with my knuckles. Belegon shot me a bemused glance. I supposed elves did not knock on wood for luck. _Sigh._ In lieu of explaining, I slipped from my perch. I figured Bilbo, at least, should be awakening soon. He’d missed breakfast, second breakfast, _and_ elevenses if I was judging the sun’s position right. 

“I don’t suppose you guys packed eggs?” I asked Belegon hopefully. 

He snorted in a muted, elvish way, shaking his head. 

“Didn’t think so,” I said around another sigh.

“I’ll find some,” Aleks interjected.

I tensed up, berating myself for not keeping better watch. Before I could decide how to address him, he was gone, trudging through the heavier vegetation at one end of the fissure we inhabited.

Belegon reached over and tapped me. “You have nothing to fear, lady. Do you not trust me to guard you?”

I exhaled gustily and scrunched my nose in self-derision. “I trust you, and I trust the dwarves, too. No one here is looking to see me hurt.” Except maybe Aleks. A wry twist of the lips. “There is little a guard can do to ward against emotional wounds.”

“There is if you would allow it,” Belegon said matter-of-factly.

“No,” I said, instantly bristling. “Don’t you dare.” I might want to pummel my twin into the ground, but that didn’t mean I’d let anyone else do it. My mind stumbled over that. Even after all he’d done, I was _protective_ of the rat. What was up with that?

Belegon gave me a soft smile. “And that is why you hurt, lady.”

“Hwinneth,” I corrected.

A wider grin. _“Lady_ Hwinneth,” he said. “You love one who does not return your affection. The sooner you accept that this may not change, the sooner you will find peace.” 

With those sage words uttered, he returned to his weapon. 

Leaving me with a lot to think about.

OoOoOo

Aleks returned with a handful of turkey eggs cupped in his scratched, and now-inflamed, palms. Getting to the nest had been a pain in the butt, but he’d done it. If Daph wanted eggs, he was getting her eggs. ‘Nuff said.

The others were rousing as he made his way to where his sister knelt before a snapping campfire. She must have scavenged odds and ends from the elves, because she had what looked to be the beginnings of a decent meal going. Her tote was open at her side, and she was chopping up food with her ceramic knife, laughing at something Bofur said. She tossed the vegetables into the big skillet Bofur held in one hand. 

Bofur. Cooking. Dude, where was Bombur? Making his way to them, Aleks nudged the sleeping cook as he passed him. 

Bombur muttered something incoherent, less than responsive. 

“Alright,” Aleks said cheerfully. “Consider yourself warned. Your brother is cooking our breakfast.”

Bombur shot straight up, and Aleks grinned. He’d never tasted Bofur’s cooking, and Daph _was_ supervising, but Bombur had horror stories. To hear him tell it, Bofur was like the kiss of death to any meal he attempted. Daphne, Aleks suspected, had no idea of the toymaker’s rep. 

Bombur shot by, almost a blur in his haste to extricate the skillet from his brother’s hands. “No,” the cook said, ignoring the woebegone expression Bofur instantly adopted. “Do not give me that look, Brother. If it was possible to scorch water, you’d be the one to do the discovering how.”

Bofur pressed one hand to his chest, a grin on his face. _“Och,_ and from my own brother. You wound me.”

“He can’t be that bad,” Daphne interrupted with a laugh, shoulder-bumping Bofur with eyes upon the cook. 

“You see?” Bofur pounced. “The lass is teaching me.”

Bombur ignored his brother. “It _is_ that bad, lass. Never you mind him. _I’ll_ help with the cooking.” Bombur freed the skillet from his brother’s grasp with a small jerk, huffing and puffing in feigned ire. “Fool denies the sorry truth of it,” he muttered under his breath. 

Bofur laughed. 

“I _was_ watching him,” Daphne said dryly, her smile fading as Aleks shuffled forward. 

“Eggs,” he said gruffly, awkwardly balancing the eggs in his hands as he offered them to her. 

A sharp inhale was all the warning he got before she began passing the eggs off to the dwarf brothers in a rush. The instant she’d unloaded his cargo, she lifted his hands for her inspection. “What did you do to yourself?” she asked. 

Wait. She was concerned? That was good, right? Aleks shrugged when she turned hard eyes up at him. “They’re just scratches,” he offered a bit lamely, not sure how to handle this. He didn’t want her to close down on him.

Her eyes narrowed. “Not just scratches.” Her energy intensified, turning a brighter green. Looking for residual stuff, he figured. Then she blanched, and he forgot all about this being a good development. 

“Sit,” she said, pushing him to the ground where he stood. 

That wasn’t a good look. Why did she have that look? “What?” he demanded. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the silver-haired elf sit up, do something near his ankles and stand. “Hwinneth?”

She turned to the elf, eyed him up and down, scowled and said, “You were awake the whole time?”

“No, but we are aware of our surroundings while in reverie,” the elf replied with a short-lived smirked. As soon as it faded, he asked, “What is amiss?”

“Aye,” Bombur prodded. 

Aleks felt his temper climb. “Aye,” he repeated louder than the others. It was, after all, his body in question. 

“Caranoran, I’ll need plenty of water,” Daphne said. The elf turned and began unpacking unused water pouches. “Only you, Aleks. Couldn’t tangle with poison ivy. Oh no, that would be too simple,” she groused, one hand releasing his left to root around in her bag. 

_“What?”_ he demanded, by now ready to freak out, too. What, was he going to die here? From scratches? 

She grimaced at his hands. “You grabbed those eggs from a thicket, right?”

“So?” Did he have to shake it out of her?

Bifur’s heavy hand came down upon his shoulder an instant before the older toymaker squatted by his side. 

“So,” she said, “that thicket must have been rich in wolfsbane.” Before he could joke about not being a werewolf, she added, “Probably one of the most poisonous plants in England.”

Um…what?

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s as bad as all that…” After the scare she’d given him? For real? “…but I’m not taking chances.”

“We don’t have wolfsbane in Arizona,” he defended himself.

“Hallelujah for that, too,” she said. “In the future if you see purple, bell-looking flowers pointed downward…?”

“Yeah, I won’t go near it,” he said fervently. 

Aleks’s hands began to burn in earnest as his sister worked. He hissed, and her eyes lifted to him with a sympathetic scrunch of the nose. “I know,” she said. “You’ll feel better once I put some salve on it, but we have to get all of it washed away.” 

Daphne spent a lot of time rinsing his hands, and he gritted his teeth, biting back any words of complaint. Only when she was satisfied did she unscrew a round container and slather a salve on his skin. “Comfrey,” she announced before he could ask. “With a thing or two in the mix.” 

The sharp burning sensation abated with the first touch of the salve. Dryads. For the first time in a long time, he was quite happy to have one around. 

Their meal was done by the time she loosely wrapped his hands and signaled she was finished. Before she could rise, Aleks grabbed her hands gingerly. “Thanks.” 

Their eyes met for a long, dozen or so heartbeats. She cared. Oh, she still didn’t trust him, but she cared. It made all the difference. At last, she nodded, then hurried to Caranoran’s side, berating him about cheating. Aleks couldn’t figure what that was about. The elf looked amused, so it really didn’t need his attention. 

His gaze collided with Bifur’s. The look the older dwarf gave him was all-over heartening. Yeah, things were off to a good start. All he had to do now was build on this foundation. 

His sister still cared.


	28. Dwaves in Trees, Take II

### Chapter 27

Aleks couldn’t remember ever being so tired as he levered his exhausted body to a seat on his bedroll. He felt utterly spent. A week of searching, and he was no closer to locating Gollum. Splitting his focus among hundreds of animals, from bats to mice and bears to chameleons, in an attempt to ferret out the creature’s location had taxed him faster than he’d anticipated. He’d barely made it back to their cave campsite this time before crashing.

What had awakened him? 

Slumped but sitting, he wiped grit from his eyes, only then realizing that he was enveloped in absolute darkness. He froze. Why was he in darkness? Daph should be in this cave. Bilbo, too. Not to mention the three elves who’d proved next to useless in scouting caves. For guys who lived in an underground city, they really had wretched night vision when compared to dwarves. 

Something was wrong. That was the instant deduction his tired brain made. Fire out. Missing Daphne and Bilbo. Sounded like trouble to him. It wasn’t like she could help with explorations. Both dwarves and elves had been adamant in their rejection of that idea, and Daph herself had looked relieved beyond measure to have it so.

Shaking his head to clear the last dregs of sleep-mugginess from it, he first scrambled across the uneven, rocky cave floor (banging one knee painfully and biting back a curse) towards the rear where a small notch in the lower corner had revealed to be a tiny access tunnel that dumped right into a larger passageway joined to the spider’s web of networking tunnels riddling the Misty Mountains. 

The access tunnel itself was too small for any but himself, Bilbo, or Daphne to use, but he felt compelled to check it out first. Thus far, there’d been not a hint of goblin presence in the area. He’d scouted it thoroughly and deemed it safe enough to leave unguarded.

Not that the elves trusted his judgment. 

His lips compressed, but he ducked his head through the access notch and checked the tunnel. Other than a couple rats, it was clear.

_Which leaves Door Number Two._ He flashed satyr to enhance his senses and hurried towards the slender, jagged crack that was the only real entrance to the cave. Finding the cave had been a miracle, one Aleks felt justifiably proud of since he’d been the one to discover it after being clued in by a rat. From the outside, the cave entrance looked like a crack along the mountain’s base between a couple huge nodules of rock. Stone folded over in such a way that the cave was invisible until you were right before it and looking at the proper angle.

It had been perfect for their purposes.

Aleks slithered out the crack, wondering for the umpteenth time how it was that Bombur squeezed his fat self past the narrow point a couple times a day. The cook was greasing himself. It was the only answer, though a disturbing one, Aleks chortled to himself. 

Night air greeted him as he emerged. He took a deep breath, noting bright animal signatures here and there, but before he could really assess, Bilbo all but tackled him to the ground. 

“Bil--”

The hobbit silenced him with a low hiss. A small hand captured his wrist and dragged him into the shadow of one of the three, noxious-smelling bushes Daph had coaxed into growing at the mouth of the cave to mask their presence from predators. 

“Where’s Daph?” he asked in the barest whisper, growing more concerned as he noted just how tense the little hobbit was. Something had happened, all right, and it wasn’t anything minor. Bilbo was as grim as when they’d been running from wargs outside of Rivendell.

Without word, the hobbit framed his face with his hands and forced his head to the right. Aleks’s breath froze in his lungs. As far as he could see, individual glows lit up the landscape like a starfield. _Orcs,_ he identified. _And wargs._ What were Daphne and Bilbo doing out here with orcs approaching? Aleks’s temper flared into instant, supernova proportions. 

“Where’s Daph?” he repeated in a hiss, his head whipping around in search of her. And where were the elves who’d sworn they’d keep an eye on her and the hobbit while the dwarves hunted for more tunnels to search?

Bilbo pointed across the way to where a single, tattered tree perched in the thin soil. Her energy signature lay across a branch not far from the top. 

_Daph!_

His gaze flew back to the oncoming army of orcs. No, no, no. Not good. _Blast it, Daph, what were you thinking?_ She should have grabbed Bilbo and booked it inside as soon as the orcs had been spotted.

Aleks growled under his breath. The dwarves were due back any time now. If he couldn’t warn them, they’d walk right into this mess.

Daphne’s words returned to him. _Protect Bilbo at all costs,_ she’d said. He knew her reasoning, but still he hesitated, gesturing frantically for her to get down _now_ and scanning for any sign of the Three Bs and Gloin. She never saw him. The dwarves did not magically appear. Aleks measured the distance, and knew he’d never make it to her and back in time. _She’d a dryad,_ a part of him pointed out. She’d be safe…right? 

The sea of glittering gold specks drew nearer, and he was out of time. Bilbo could not be risked. Grabbing Bilbo by the scruff of his neck, Aleks bolted for the cave’s narrow entrance, pushing the hobbit before him. 

“Master Aleks,” Bilbo objected. 

“I know, Bilbo,” he growled back, trying to keep his voice low. “Truly, I know.” He swiped sweat from his brow, his throat tight. How had things gone to pot in just the short time he’d been asleep? That’s what he wanted to know. 

Aleks’s breath hissed between his teeth, his eyes scouring the cave for ideas. Frustration mounted. How was he supposed to do anything when summoning up even a bug was beyond him? He couldn’t protect Daph. He couldn’t warn off the dwarves. If he tried, he suspected he’d not only fail spectacularly, but he’d probably collapse, thereby leaving Bilbo not only stripped of his protection but added with the burden of guarding his unconscious body. 

He spat a curse he’d heard Nori use a time or two, not sure what it meant but finding satisfaction in the sound of it. A sudden series of sharp sounds drove every half-formulated thought from his brain. 

“What is that?” Bilbo whispered.

Aleks shook his head dumbly. Whatever it was, it was right outside the cave. Aleks jerked as yet another noise, loud and odd, echoed into the chamber. Aleks pushed Bilbo behind him, snatching up his bow and cocking an arrow as he maneuvered them towards the rear access vent. 

“But,” Bilbo began.

Aleks blinked away the itchy sensation in his eyes. “Too late,” he whispered. “She’s on her own. They all are.” Guilt sat on his chest like an elephant. _Daph?_ Once again, he cursed himself up one side and down the other for ever allowing that precious link, a part of what made a naiad a naiad, to die from neglect. 

A hand touched his arm, and he shrugged it off. He wanted no comfort. He deserved none. His sister was out there. Bifur was out there, the dwarf who’d understood him so well. Yet Thorin, the dwarves, even the cursed elves, relied on him to see Bilbo through. Bilbo was the important one here. He was the key. 

Though when he saw those elves next, he was going to rip into them like nobody’s business. Had they seen the danger and fled, leaving Bilbo and Daph to fend for themselves? Thorin was right. An elf could not be trusted. 

Another noise, raspy and crackly. Wood splintered. Ground shifted underfoot. His heart lurched. It wasn’t an earthquake, but the earth groaned with a deep rumbling. 

It halted after twenty seconds or so. Silence reigned for a long forever only punctuated by fearful, ragged breaths – Aleks’s as well as Bilbo’s. 

The thundering cadence of heavy footsteps, hundreds of them, grew like an oncoming storm. Chills broke out up and down Aleks’s arms. The oncoming tide crashed upon the mountainside like waves on the beach. The resonating treads splashed in all directions, on either side of them…and then above them. 

Aleks had never been so aware of the weight of rock hovering overhead as when fine, sand-like fragments of shale rained down, dusting both satyr and hobbit with a thin layer of gray powder. Either orcs or wargs had climbed up on the rock forming the cave’s roof. Perhaps both. If they searched above them, how likely was it they’d miss the cave? 

“Bilbo?” he breathed, drawing the bowstring until the arrow’s fletching tickled his ear. 

The hobbit’s face tilted up in his direction. 

“Can you see well enough to move our things?”

“Move?” Bilbo straightened, realization setting in. The hobbit tugged on his coat hem. “Leave it to me.” 

Aleks was again amazed at the courage displayed by the small man. Bilbo must have seen the number of orcs headed their way, yet still he hurried on silent, bare feet to the bedroll and gear stashed closest to the cave’s entrance. He rolled up the bedroll – Bofur’s, it figured that the happy-go-lucky dwarf had not tidied up before heading out – and hurried back. Dropping to his knees, the hobbit shoved the gear through the narrow hole leading deeper into the mountain. 

Back and forth, Bilbo rushed, grabbing gear one piece at a time and thrusting it through that hole. More than once, his hairy feet disappeared through the opening as he moved stuff out of the way, making room for more. 

Aleks spared a thought to hope no goblin ventured down that tunnel anytime soon. 

An orc roared, and Aleks’s bowels liquefied. It sounded right outside. _Mahal, if you exist, a little help?_ Aleks retreated to the small vent. Bilbo’s head emerged. 

“Get back, Bilbo,” Aleks ordered. The gear had been moved. He hoped that was enough to erase all traces of their presence, because what sounded like a warg’s snuffling echoed into the room. 

Aleks dropped to the floor and wriggled through the hole, every inch of him screaming they were about to be found.

OoOoOo

At first, Bofur thought the light tickling sensation naught more than a breeze twitching up against his britches. He’d paused with mattock over one shoulder to enjoy the cooler air. The late summer sun had set a bit ago, taking with it the stifling heat of day.

A good day spent with his kin, a warm meal waiting in the cave courtesy of one fine lass (if he did say so himself) and soon a pipe in hand and good conversation. What else could a dwarf ask for? 

Aye, and things were progressing well with the lass. The past week, they’d spent much time speaking with one another, conversations that only solidified his certainty where she was concerned. She’d laughed. Teased. The real Daphne had emerged, timid at first, aye and afraid to be so bare before her twin, but with growing confidence as the week progressed. Encouraging developments, to be sure.

When unleashed, her sense of fun proved to rival his own, and that was no small thing to his mind. The “war” he’d heard mention between the lass and the elf prince had resumed, much to Bofur’s delight. Young Aleks had been shocked to discover that side of her, but Bofur had gotten a kick out of watching the wee lass faced off with the elf. Her latest gag had been to slip some herb into the princeling’s evening tea, turning his voice satisfyingly squeaky for hours. 

‘twas all Bofur could do not to kiss the lass speechless, though truth be told, he needed no such excuse. She entranced him, his Daphne. So bonnie, she was. His sleep had become broken, a growing ache taking him to hold her close to his side. Soon. By Durin, he’d be pressing his suit soon.

The tickling sensation acquired some definition, dashing his wandering thoughts. That was no wind that slithered around his ankle and worked its way up his left leg. He lowered his mattock slowly, expecting to see a snake, only to blink upon spying a tendril of leafy green winding its way up his body. 

With an elevated brow, he turned to his cousin and brother, only to find them eyeing tendrils of their own with curiosity and no wee amount of bewilderment. Gloin grumbled too low to be heard and tore at the fragile vines like they were, in truth, serpents. Bofur fingered the tendril climbing himself and snorted as it curled around his finger. “Aye, my lassie, we’re on our way,” he said.

Bombur chortled in startled realization, and Bifur twisted his lips wryly. “Should have thought of that,” Bifur grunted in Khuzdul. 

Aye, well, Bofur doubted any of the other dwarves had given as much thought to the dryad’s nature as himself. He much preferred it that way, truth be told. 

The tendrils released them but then shot out, reforming into a net when Bofur took one step forward. Before his eyes, the net again reformed, this time taking on the shape of a face with green leaves roughly outlining hair, eyes, nose, and lips. 

He tugged upon one earlobe. _Your sketching does need a bit of work, my lass._

The lopsided form grew neck and arms, the expression morphing until it looked…frightened. Bofur’s grip on his mattock grew punishing. All jocularity ceased as the other dwarves noted what he had. The figure pointed at a tree with urgent, jabbing motions. It kept looking over its shoulder as if in alarm.

Bofur had seen enough. He was heading back. Now.

Bifur halted him, his head cocked to one side, listening. Before Bofur could ask, he, too, heard the loud, pounding noise of many a footfall. Again, the leafy woman pointed at a tree, her gestures more urgent. 

“Obey,” Bifur growled to them in Khuzdul as he shoved them into motion. 

The four dwarves skidded to a halt near the tree’s base, but before any could find cause to be dismayed at another tree to climb, this one grew bulges and lumps up its side like a horned toad. Bombur barely hesitated. Gripping one with his hand, he stepped up onto another and scaled it like a ladder. 

Bofur raced up the trunk right behind him. As he worked his way onto another branch – Bombur’s was all but a-groaning at his substantial mass – he witnessed the way new growth sprang into being along the underside of Bombur’s branch. Each sprig unfurled leaves that shielded Bombur from view below. 

_Aye, lassie, and I’ll be thanking you for this later._ She’d warned them and now sent aid to help them hide. Choosing his own perch, he watched as the tree acted to conceal himself as well. Then Gloin and Bifur, too. A glance below showed every trace of their passage was being swept aside by a few tufts of wheat-colored grasses. 

The last leaves were uncurling beneath Bifur when the sheer size of their plight came into view. Orcs. Hundreds of them, and this time there would be no need to embellish the retelling for impact, Bofur thought. They were in deep, deep trouble. If not for the lass, they’d not have survived this. 

His gaze turned towards the cave, hidden from view by the side of the mountain. Was she safe? That she could protect them said aye, but he was not assured. Bifur’s hand dropped to his shoulder. He read there a matching concern. Aye, and he would. Bifur knew full well how much the lass was coming to mean to him. It chafed something fierce to know his naiad’s safety rested in the hands of a bunch of elves. 

_Stay safe, my wee, sweet lassie._ Leaves rustled in a stray breeze. _Patience, my lad._ So long as they all remained hidden, time would set all to rights. The orcs would move on, and he’d find his lass, Bilbo, and Aleks safe and sound. 

He refused to consider otherwise.

OoOoOo

_…Caranoran, Bombur, Bofur…_

So hard to think. The mind…strayed. Fragmented. Branches swaying overhead in a tree’s dance, the chime of leaves its own music. The wind’s touch was like a mother’s comforting caress, a hand run through the hair.

No.

_…Gwathadar, Bifur, Thorin…_

Reasons to fight. Reasons to remain. 

So hard.

_Amma warned me._ What warning could do justice to this? Look both ways before crossing the street. Tie your shoe laces. 

Don’t allow your full fae nature to emerge. 

_Aleks, did you know?_ Couldn’t warn him. Trapped. Splintering and ensnared by a cage of my own creation. Too impulsive. Didn’t think.

_…Bilbo, Rinel, Legolas…_

Had to save Aleks. Orcs had arrived. Protect Bilbo…though it had been Aleks forefront on my mind, not the valiant hobbit. Had to hide them. Wargs coming closer. Closer. I’d hurled myself at the cave entrance, let the dryad fully free. Mistake, mistake. Turned tree. Grew roots, grew limbs to seal the cave’s entrance, limbs anchoring through the folds in the rock, roots sinking deep to prevent any from getting past me without going through me. 

_Aleks, did you mean it?_

No turning back. Couldn’t undo this on my own. _Gwathadar, where are you?_

Sound fades - what is sound? What are ears? 

I stretched out, my senses refined, strengthened. I find comfort in sharing through another tree the feel of the dwarves’ weights. A distant voyeur. Bombur - that was Bombur straining that limb. 

_…Bombur, Bofur, Bifur, Gloin…_

So hard to focus. Tree senses so seductive. Trees don’t fear. Tree’s don’t suffer betrayal or feel real pain. So tempting…

_Aleks?_

Pieces of me slough off with each minute, yet I cannot halt it. Help? Can anyone help? Time loses meaning. I lose meaning. 

_Caranoran._ A picture. His face lit up in a smile. I was drenched, falling for oldest trick in the book as he laughed in joyous success. 

_Bofur._ Laughter. Friendship. Trust. 

Fight the disintegration.

OoOoOo

Aleks shook himself. Standing there waiting for the enemy to find them sounded like the height of stupidity. _Daph said the Ring could influence those around it._ Could it be the orcs were being led to it? His gaze shot to Bilbo. Could they take the chance? In a word, no. _It really is up to us, then._ “Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s chin lifted. “We need to press on, Master Aleks. The others have risked their lives to give us this chance.”

Aleks couldn’t have said it better himself. He cleared the tightness from his throat, forcing back all the swelling emotions threatening to do him in. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, we can’t let them down.” 

Aleks marched over to their gear where Bilbo had stashed it out of direct sight and immediately dug into Daphne’s tote. Out came a couple glow sticks, which he pressed into Bilbo’s hands with a short, “Just in case. I’ll explain as we go.” He rifled through the contents, his mind working furiously. Paracord, he set down next to his hooves. Jerky. When he found her ceramic knives stowed away in one pocket, Aleks almost shouted and bawled at the same time. With how dangerous Middle Earth could be - and she _knew_ it - what was she doing not wearing them?

_We’ll be talking about this, Daph. Count on it._ If she wouldn’t listen to him, she’d listen to Bofur.

He tucked the largest of the bunch into his belt. The mp3 player, chocolates, and odds and ends made his hands shake. _She’s smart. She’ll be okay._

The dwarves were too canny to be taken by orcs without a fight violent enough to topple the mountain. He had to trust that. Trust them. 

Stuffing the rope and jerky into the pockets of his pants, he snagged a water skin for himself and one for Bilbo. Then, handing one off to Bilbo, he assumed the lead. They had a Gollum to find, so they’d best be getting to it.


	29. Treedom and Gollum-Hunting

### Chapter 28

Prince Caranoran slunk around a globular, misshapen boulder, one in a countless stream of them as he followed Brethil’s shadow through the dark landscape. The eastern horizon had assumed a faint glow. Sunrise was not far away.

Frustration burned through him like molten gold from a dwarf’s forge. So close, they’d been, yet Azog had slipped away. All that effort, and they returned empty handed. Worse, they’d left their post at Radagast’s behest, the wizard’s plea to aid him supported by Hwinneth when she’d heard whom it was they hunted. 

Only later did Belegon inform him of Oakenshield’s fate at Azog’s hands. Hwinneth had not tried to preserve the time-line, she’d attempted to thwart it. She’d do so again, of that Caranoran was certain. She cared for those dwarves, as unbelievable as it seemed to him. The rough, crude males were unkempt and ill-mannered, yet she plainly harbored a fondness for them, unbathed or not. 

She hadn’t told them. The first night they’d camped in the Misty Mountains, Hwinneth had revealed much of the future, but she’d neglected to mention the Battle of Five Armies. It was proof positive in his estimation that she intended to ensure Oakenshield’s survival. But at what cost? Did she plan to venture onto the battlefield itself to shield the dwarf king with her body?

_No, Hwinneth. Ada will never stand for it._ **He** would not stand for it. 

What to do? Reason with her, yes, though he had little confidence it would sway her if she was set upon this path. If only they had slain Azog. The die would be cast, the future changed irredeemably. Oakenshield would be spared, and Hwinneth appeased. As it stood, the burden of the choice settled upon him like a cloying mantle. Trust a book that had thus far proved to be less than accurate – painting _Ada_ as a villain? – or do what was right in lieu of the expedient? He could understand Hwinneth’s dilemma. Knowing that a person would die if things were restored, he too would have a difficult time not intervening to protect that person. 

Brethil signaled a beware. Caranoran dropped into the shadow of a thorny bush, body low to the ground. A glance behind revealed Belegon had masked his presence with his usual lack of fuss. Black Speech floated upon the wind. Orcs were near.

A dagger sliced through the air, puncturing the earth bare inches from his nose. Caranoran stilled, his gaze fixed upon the blade. The hilt was a heavy and solid iron with little embellishment. He knew that blade. _Gloin,_ he identified. Moving slowly as to not draw attention, he slipped the blade free and tucked it into his belt as his gaze sought the gruff dwarf. 

He found him in an unusually dense silver birch along with the other three dwarves. They were almost invisible within the foliage. He would have missed them entirely had they not spread the leaves beneath them to allow him a glimpse. 

Gloin crooked a finger, his thick red beard doing nothing to hide the monstrous frown on his face. A quick check proved that each of the elves had received equal summons. Brethil hiked one brow, and Caranoran nodded shortly. With orcs swarming these mountains, they needed to determine where the rest of their party might be. 

It took seconds for the wood elves to scale the tree and find perches among the tree’s unusually dense plumage. Caranoran claimed a branch above and to the side of the younger toymaker, the stranger one. Both were odd in his estimation, though the elder appeared to be more intelligent than the younger. 

_Not a feat, to be smarter than the younger._ He had no idea why Oakenshield would entrust so sensitive a mission to the floppy-hatted Bofur, but from the beginning, he’d disapproved of the selection. Oh, the dwarf seemed brave enough – he’d risked his life to save their Hwinneth during the spider attack – but his intellect was, in Caranoran’s estimation, lacking. The dwarf’s only redeeming quality was his ability to draw endless laughter from Hwinneth. Still, Caranoran was not completely pleased with the friendship growing between them. 

The elves concealed themselves among the leaves not a minute too soon, for orcs mounted upon their wargs rode past in a large herd. Orcs shouted to one another, goading each other on in their hunt for Hwinneth, their speech full of angry, fearful reminders of their fate should they fail Azog and the necromancer. 

_Valar protect you, young one._ He should not have left his young foster sister, no matter the sense of it at the time. He’d not failed to notice the way the dwarves eyed him or his companions with resentment, and he was certain this infraction had not won him any, as Hwinneth would say, _brownie points._

The instant the orcs had passed them by, the dwarves shifted upon their branches to look upon him. He waited for Gloin’s words of admonition, but someone else spoke first.

“Now, this is an unexpected pleasure, is it not, Gloin?” Bofur smiled at him, but there was no amusement to be found in his dark eyes.

“Oh, aye,” the other dwarf chimed in, his voice flat and expression stony.

“Here we were, enjoying the beauty of the night and taking in the cool air when what do we see? Three elves out and about, of the same mind as ourselves.” 

Belegon’s eyes had by this point become slits, and Brethil fingered the shaft of his favored polearm. Neither was amused. Nor was Caranoran. 

“We left upon the wizard’s request,” he told them, his own voice betraying his frustration and self-recriminations. “Hwinneth insisted. We had no way of knowing this army would appear.”

Bofur remained cold, his sharp-edged smile never faltering, and his brown-green eyes boring through him like a spear.

“And the purpose of such an undertaking?” Bombur asked. The heavy dwarf sat reclined against the tree’s bole, his hands folded across his substantial girth. 

Caranoran tore his gaze free from Bofur with difficulty. The dwarf radiated menace, forcing him to consider that, as unbelievable as Hwinneth’s fondness for the dwarves, they might truly reciprocate it. 

“Azog,” he informed Bombur. 

The dwarves all tensed, Gloin going so far as to lean towards him, one hand upon the branch overhead to stabilize his perch. The red-headed dwarf examined him from beneath bushy brows. “If ye killed him, laddie, all is forgiven.”

Brethil snorted. “It is a good thing we failed.”

All heads whipped towards the auburn-haired guard.

“That is not for you to judge,” Belegon countered as Gloin sputtered. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur glared. 

“The king would agree with me,” Brethil returned.

Caranoran stood upon his branch, his weight setting it to bob, and scanned the area in the direction of the cave. “So you have said, Royal Guard. Repeatedly since Belegon revealed more to us.”

“You know full well--” Brethil began.

“Silence.” Pivoting on one foot, Caranoran found his gaze drawn to the odd-hatted toymaker. Why, he couldn’t say, but it was to Bofur he directed his next question. “Did our Hwinneth say aught to you about the Battle of Five Armies?”

OoOoOo

Bofur tugged upon his mustache and maintained his smile, though little did the situation call for it. But by Durin, it pricked the elf so, and what dwarf could resist riling so stiff a soul as an elf?

 _Battle of Five Armies. I don’t like the sound of that, Bofur my lad, indeed I don’t._ Five armies equaled a heap of danger, and no doubt. He’d seen enough war to easily envision what such a battle would most certainly entail. So why, he mused, had the lass hidden the event from them? Aye, they had enough with finding that Ring, but no word at all?

“Nay,” he answered simply and enjoyed watching as the elf turned white-lipped at his seeming lack of interest. He was interested, all right. Fiercely so.

The elf turned towards Gloin, done with him, and Bofur winked behind his back where only his brother could see. Bombur winked back.

“I would speak bluntly,” the elf told Gloin, his back as straight as Bifur’s boar spear. “I believe Hwinneth means to intervene to save your king.”

_Eh…what?_ Every fiber of him went on alert. 

Brethil hissed them to silence, and soon enough they heard the orcs riding towards them once more. Bofur’s hand tapped upon his mattock a few times as his bent his head to gaze downward. The sun was nearer to rising. With a spot of luck, the orcs would retreat until sunset, granting them time to regroup.

The instant the orcs had again passed from the vicinity, Bofur joined the others in staring at the elvish prince. Caranoran stepped onto a branch closer to Gloin and squatted down, paying no mind to the branch’s sway. Gloin grabbed at it with a bigger scowl. With hands dangling between his knees, the silver haired elf said, “We are not easy allies, the First Born and the Naugrim. You joy in the deep places and in metals and gems while we prefer our forests and living things.”

_Aye, and elves have no love of precious stones, do they now?_ Almost all of the woodland elves Bofur had seen had gemstones of some sort woven into their hair. What was that he was detecting? Aye, that would be hypocrisy, it would.

“My prince,” the auburn-haired guard said with caution.

Caranoran flicked a finger, his attention never straying from Gloin. “If my king and father were depicted as dying upon the battlefield, I would do all within my power to see the event thwarted. I do not understand our Hwinneth’s loyalty to you.” And here, Bofur noted he was not the only dwarf to take a severe disliking to his words. “But it is fact. She says nothing about Thorin and his heirs dying at Azog’s hands, and I believe I know why.”

A knot formed in the pit of Bofur’s belly. _Och, no, lass. Ye should have told us._ “She means to be there,” he murmured, his smile and attempts to needle the elf abandoned. 

Caranoran’s brows winged upwards as his head craned in his direction. “That is my fear.”

His patience was done. Bofur delayed no longer, grappling his way to the trunk and climbing down the tree. He’d be happier once he had both eyes clapped onto the lassie.

OoOoOo

Aleks dropped the green glow stick into the hole in the floor. It ricocheted off rocks and protrusions as it fell, dispelling the inky blackness that had reigned a heartbeat before. The glowing tube rattled as it landed upon a flat slab of rock, then rolled a few feet until it hit a wall. By its light, a ghostly passageway littered with tumbled boulders and rocks came into view.

They’d searched these tunnels all night, more than once having to dive for cover as goblins crossed their path. Aleks shook with fatigue. He’d had to call for help on two occasions to avoid detection. He didn’t know where he’d found the juice to do that much, but he had. End result: if he’d been wiped before, he was so far beyond it now that they were in different time zones. How he would defend Bilbo as the hobbit attempted to lure out Gollum, he hadn’t the faintest. Bilbo had taken over the lead some time ago against Aleks’s wishes, but what could he do? He was becoming a liability to the hobbit, and it frustrated him to no end. 

“I think this is it, Bilbo,” he said, inspecting the newly discovered space beneath them with muddled brain and blurred vision. 

Bilbo nodded in a business-like fashion. The more Aleks had degenerated, the more the hobbit had firmed his resolve. Though fear lurked in his brown eyes, he stood with a confidence rarely displayed. “Yes. Well then. I shan’t delay, shall I?” 

Aleks smiled. So proper and mannerly, his little friend. Aleks handed him the bag of jerky. “I’ll trail behind far enough to stay out of the way. If that creature is anywhere nearby, the scent of food should draw him out.”

He hoped. Daph had mentioned Gollum preferred raw meat, but they’d have to work with what they had.

Bilbo tucked the pouch into his inner coat pocket before kneeling down. With a deep breath, he backed into the hole. Aleks held onto his arms and lowered him further, aiming the hobbit’s feet towards a shelf of stone some four feet below. 

“Ready?”

“Drop me.”

He released him. 

Bilbo landed with knees bent, absorbing the impact. He remained hunched over as he picked his way down from rock to rock to the tunnel floor below. His head panned back and forth, and his hands touched his dagger sheaths more than once. Missing Sting, Aleks figured. 

Bilbo pocketed the glow stick, dousing its light. Instantly, Aleks lost sight of everything but Bilbo’s energy signature. 

Picking a direction, Bilbo set out, one hand pulling out the bag of jerky. By his arm motions, Aleks knew when Bilbo tossed a piece to the floor and walked on. 

Aleks watched Bilbo’s reddish and honey-colored energy signature as Bilbo progressed further down the passageway. The hobbit remained alert, his head in constant motion. Aleks wiped grit from his eyes, cautioning himself to patience. If he followed too closely, Gollum might not approach. The creature was shy but vicious, Daphne had said. 

Plus, Aleks wanted no part of that Ring. He’d heard enough. _Thanks but no thanks._

Aleks waited until Bilbo was quite a ways ahead and eased himself down the hole after him, returning to human form to increase his chances of passing undetected. His already challenged eyesight dimmed further, but it couldn’t be helped. Gollum could not spot him, especially not as a satyr. 

With notched arrow pointed towards the ground, he padded on bare feet after his friend.

OoOoOo

Bofur’s left hand rasped across his bearded jaw, his other hand resting upon the butt of his mattock as he watched the elf prince run a light hand upon the trunk of the tree that had sprung up in their absence. A sight it was, and that was for certain. He’d seen naught like it in all his years. The leaves were large and glossy, and the flowers green-yellow. Black berries peeked out from among the foliage.

Through the thick covering of leaves, at first he missed it, but as the elf’s inspection ran across the length of the bole, it be came clear - the trunk lined up exactly with the cave’s entrance, blocking all access. 

The lass’s work, he didn’t doubt. 

_If that be so, why no answer?_ Each of them had tried in turn, yet call out as they might, there was no response from within that cave. Not from Daphne. Not from Aleks or Bilbo. _We should not have left the wee ones in the care of elves._

Caranoran was the image of calm determination now, but Bofur had not been the only one surprised by the strength of the elf’s reaction to the situation. Aghast, he’d been, and while rightly so, Bofur found his sympathies roused for the silver elf. Caranoran might not share blood with their dryad, but sincere he’d been when calling the lass sister.

_Och, my lass. You seem to have a knack for accumulating the oddest mix of friends to your side._

His own outward calm had long since worn like old paint, crackling and peeling away in pieces. That some dire need had presented itself, well, how could he doubt that if the lass grew an entire tree to seal off their camp? 

His thumb smoothed across the rounded bottom of the mattock’s haft. _Why leave after blocking the cave, lass?_ There was no sense to it, and with every inch the sun gained over the horizon, a cold fear settled in his gut like soured ale. He thumped the head of his mattock upon the ground, brow creased. No signs of struggle, though the earth looked to be churned up like a farmer’s fields before the planting, he noted absently. Could the goblins have won into the cave from the inside? 

His jaw tightened. Bilbo, aye, he would fight with his whole heart, and Aleks as well. The lass… He’d determined to teach her. The elf had lamented the lack of a staff she’d used in the Elvenking’s Halls, and Bofur had set his mind to replacing it with a fine _dwarvish_ staff of his own making.

He berated himself for delaying. The Ring was important, but a life was irreplaceable. Better to lose the Ring now and recover it later than to lose one of their companions. Had she been frightened? Aye, she would have been. His grip upon his mattock grew tight enough to snap it if he but rotated his hand. 

Bifur clapped him on the shoulder, the face beneath the ax head grim with shared anxiety.

“What are we waiting for?” Gloin demanded as he passed Bofur and his cousin. He hefted his battle ax and stalked towards the tree. 

The elf whipped around, eyes flared wide. “Master Gloin,” he protested.

“Out of my path, laddie.”

Caranoran stretched out his arms to either side, barring his path. Both of the elf guards materialized at his sides, hands upon hilts. “You do not understand, Master Gloin,” the prince said.

Gloin rotated his weapon a few times in his hands. “That Ring must be found. Our friends are missing. Ye cost us enough, laddie, though I know ye regret it. Now, step from my path, for I mean to remove that obstacle.”

“This is no mere tree,” the elf protested.

Gloin heaved a sigh big enough to fell a hobbit. “Elves and their trees,” he muttered, shaking his head. “If ye need a tree to be doting upon, Prince, there be plenty just over yon tumble o’ rocks. Pick one o’ them, but kindly remove yourself from my path, for I mean to find our friends.”

“For pity’s sake, lower your weapon, Master Dwarf.”

They all startled at the reappearance of the Brown Wizard. For a moment, Radagast had sounded just like Gandalf, Bofur thought, commanding and impatient. The thin man waved his robed arms, hissing them all from his path.

All but Gloin. The dwarf refused to budge, instead stomping closer to the wizard in full dudgeon, a sentiment Bofur was increasingly sharing. “Aye, and what were ye thinking, Master Wizard, pulling their protectors from them? Our companions are missing, and I’d like to hear what ye have to say about it.”

“Missing?” The wizard blinked down at Gloin, then turned in a slow circle and finally realizing, Bofur suspected, that he’d won himself no friends with that action. Not, he also thought, that the wizard seemed much perturbed by that. The wizard returned to Gloin. “What do you mean, your companions are missing?”

“Masters Aleks and Bilbo and Mistress Daphne are missing,” Gloin said, his ax planted at his side like a spear. “Out of my way. That tree is--”

“The dryad,” the wizard said with such blandness, Bofur at first missed the words. When they registered, his gaze flew to the tree, and his knees wobbled. His mattock fell to the rocky ground with a resounding clang. 

Bombur clamped a hand around his elbow as Bofur struggled to accept the wizard’s words. “Would you kindly repeat that?” Bombur asked with an edge, his face devoid of any amusement. 

“Is this some kind of jest?” Gloin demanded, his voice climbing as his temper fired. “Do you mock us?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake. Spare me from dwarf theatrics,” the wizard grumbled, shuffling past Gloin to the tree itself. 

Bofur followed in his wake, his shock beginning to wear off. Aleks had told them, hadn’t he, about satyrs. Back in Mirkwood when they’d seen that white stag, he’d told them all about the legends associated with such creatures from his world. 

“I suppose that answers that,” Bombur murmured by his side.

_Aye._ Though Bofur was most displeased to have such proof under his nose, and it being his Daphne, no less. 

“Answers what?” Guard Belegon asked, the guard’s face marked with lines of strain. By Durin, the guard looked harried. His pale blond hair had escaped its braid in three places, and his face was white and pinched. 

_Worrying about his neck as much as the missing ones._ If the Elvenking was fond of their dryad, Bofur could not blame him. The dwarves might despise the elf king, but they’d never failed to understand how dangerous he could be. 

“Ye mean the white stag young Aleks spoke of,” Gloin said to Bombur.

Bofur’s rotund brother nodded his head, hands folding before his belly over the thick braids of his beard. “Aye. If Aleks could become a white stag, it stands to reason that this is what our dryad becomes,” he said with a sad nod of his head at the tree in question.

Was it as dangerous to the lass as the white stag would be for Aleks? _Och, lassie, what prompted you to take such a risk?_ Well did Bofur remember the way Aleks had fidgeted, his hands never still on his bow as he’d warned them, saying that if he ever allowed himself to change so much, he’d lose himself to the beastie and become a danger to all, forgetting any ties. 

Bofur walked up to the tree to stand opposite Caranoran, bracketing the humming wizard. The wizard’s eyes had closed and his palms rested upon the tree’s odd trunk. Pale, it was, and thick. Fragrant, too, but what else could a dwarf expect from a lass-turned-tree? Bofur found his first smile as he settled inside. He’d be teasing the lass about this, for sure. What business did a dryad smelling of maple have becoming another type of tree? 

The wizard dropped his hands and reclaimed the rowan staff he’d propped against the trunk. “Stubborn. Dwarf, elf, naiad, makes no difference,” he mumbled. The wizard’s gaze filtered through the party as he returned to his rabbit-drawn sled. 

“Well?” Gloin demanded.

“She is a tree, Master Dwarf. A laurel tree, to be more exact.”

Gloin growled in frustration. “So ye claim. What I’m meaning is can ye…” His hands fluttered before him. “…change her back?”

The wizard again scanned the lot of them, his piercing gaze pausing on both Caranoran and Bofur. After a minute in which the wizard seemed to lose any remembrance of them, Gloin growled, and the wizard roused himself with a small shake. “Her mind is scattered. I may perhaps be able to rouse her. The Elvenking would most certainly succeed,” the gaunt man added, for all the world sounding as if the Elvenking was taxing his patience by not being present when needed.

Bofur rubbed his mouth to hide an untimely smile. The elves had no liking for Radagast’s disapproving tone, and that was a fact. 

The wizard proceeded to rummage through the supplies lashed to his sled, muttering all the while.

OoOoOo

The others clustered together just beyond the tree’s sheltering shadow, none saying much. No one was really sure what to say if they’d had a mind to speak anyway, Bofur suspected. ‘twas not every day a lass under one’s care turned into a tree.

The wizard had waved smoking bundles of pungent herbs around the laurel and tried an incantation or two. From where Bofur sat at the tree’s base, neither had done aught to help, but he waited patiently. If there was one time to hope the lass was right, it was now. She’d claimed the wizard intelligent. Canny, she’d insisted. Radagast would help her. Aye, he had to.

If not, a part of him decided, he’d have another long ride before him. He’d drag the Elvenking himself here if he must. A tricky venture, to be sure, stealing away the king of the woodland elves, but if it became necessary, that is exactly what he set his mind to do. Like as not, he’d not survive the attempt, but a dwarf did what a dwarf had to do.

Prince Caranoran murmured in elvish with a face set in stubborn lines, but for all his words, the lass didn’t seem to hear. 

If Daphne had become a tree, where then were Bilbo and Aleks? 

Bofur leaned back, the oddly shaped root and trunk system of the laurel proving to be quite the comfortable perch. It soothed him, strange as the fact was. He was connected to the lass, close enough to protect her should aught else arise to threaten her. 

“You’re not getting away with this, my lass,” he said, sticking his pipe into his mouth and lighting it. He ignored the elf’s sharp look and puffed away a couple times. “You’ve been hurt, and aye, being a tree probably feels right fine. But you’re ours now, lassie.” He smiled, pleased to make the declaration. “We dwarves, we don’t give up. Stubborn as the mountains, they say.” A bigger grin. “I’m the worst of them. It’s fair warning I’m giving you, so you’d best be heeding me, now.”

Aulë had a sense of humor, Bofur decided, pairing him with such a One. He rather thought better of him for this turn of events, for he could not imagine a dwarrowmaid so full of surprises as Daphne. Nor one that smelled so sweet. He’d never been one for sugary treats, but he’d changed his mind of late. “You naiads know how to keep things interesting, don’t you, my lass?”

The elf’s head canted to the side, a right peculiar expression upon his face. 

Bofur set his pipe upon one knee. Pulling out his clarinet, he began to play a jaunty little tune. In no time at all, Bifur joined him, sitting cross-legged with his back to the cave’s outer wall. ‘twas something they’d done countless times, goading each other and changing the tune as they went.

“This is your answer?” Caranorin interrupted. The elf’s hand rested upon the tree’s bole, his silver fall of hair blinding at this angle, Bofur thought, squinting as he drew the refrain to a close. “She’s trapped, and the best you can think to do is play music?” the elf continued. 

Bifur grumbled a number of unflattering things under his breath, and Bofur debated passing on a few of them for amusement’s sake. A wee voice reminded him of the lass’s affection for the elf, so with a sigh, he let them go. No sense antagonizing the prince when Bofur might be needing his support in the near future.

“I will not be leaving here without the lass,” Bofur told him without any heat to the words. Best the elf understand where things stood now. “I’ll wait her out. But carrying on and waving my hands will not be of much help, I’m thinking.”

The elf began to speak but then halted, his head turning back towards the tree. “Perhaps I spoke too soon,” he said in a low voice. “Master Bofur, if you please, play something.”

“Eh?” Hope flared, and his own attention flew in the same direction. “Is she…?”

“No, I don’t think she’s changing but I think…” His hands skipped across the trunk’s surface, and Bofur bit back words of protest. He didn’t much like any other hands upon the bark of the tree. 

_You’re a jealous fool, Bofur, my lad._ Upset over such a thing? He must be daft. Bifur nudged him with a knowing look and low snort. Bofur shrugged with a grin. 

Lifting the clarinet to his lips, he chose another tune. Where the last one was perky and bright, this one was low and haunting. The ballad of Erebor, _The Misty Mountains Cold,_ the very song they’d sung so long ago in Bilbo’s cozy house in the Shire. If the lass was hearing the music, he’d tug at her heartstrings with his every note, he would. 

The wizard returned for another attempt to rouse the lass as he and Bifur played the poignant melody. Hazel eyes drifted his way, but as the lass had once told him, they did not make contact. 

“She hears it,” the prince whispered to the wizard. 

Radagast hummed and nodded. Bofur’s lips twitched around his clarinet, for the wizard’s nod seemed more towards the ferret draped across his shoulder than the elf. Caranoran’s eyes flicked heavenward, and one corner of his lips dragged downward. 

“Perhaps songs from her homeland might return her to herself?” Belegon interjected. The heavily armed elf considered the tree with hands upon his hips.

“And how, Master Elf, are we to provide that?” Radagast asked with a bite of annoyance in his voice. 

A sharp look from his prince halted Belegon’s first response. With an irritated twist of the lips, the guard said, “She has a small box that remembers and plays music from her lands.”

Radagast perked up.

“It is, however, in the cave,” Caranoran added.

“Oh?” Radagast blinked at the outer wall of the cave. With a thump of his staff upon one section, rock crumbled into dust, falling away in a thick gray cloud of particles. 

“Ye mean to say ye could have done that from the beginning?” Gloin sputtered. 

The wizard waved a distracted hand. “You never asked.”


	30. Jammin' with Some AC/DC

### Chapter 29

Aleks could not stifle the small shiver of disgust that wriggled down his spine as he listened to Gollum pose his next riddle to Bilbo. Whether it was the jerky or the fresh meat (aka the hobbit) that had served to call the creature out of the dark recesses of the mountains, Aleks fervently hoped he never discovered, but Bilbo could have won a Grammy for his acting abilities. The hobbit’s feigned despair at ever escaping the mountains had seemed genuine – _It probably is,_ he thought wryly – and when Bilbo had inserted the word _play_ into his speech as Daph had suggested, Gollum had leaped to suggest the game of riddles.

_So far, so good._ But the Ring had yet to make an appearance. Was Gollum wearing it? _No. Daph said he’d be invisible if he put it on._ Ergo, he wasn’t wearing it. Where was it, then? 

Bilbo had to be sweating bullets. The hobbit used his uneasiness of Gollum to good effect. Each time he looked away nervously, his eyes scanned the ground around them. It was nerve-wracking for Aleks. It must be triply so for the hobbit. 

Aleks’s grip on his notched bow grew slick, but he dared not relax. Not for a second. That Gollum couldn’t be trusted. Even as he asked his riddle, he circled around Bilbo like a lion sizing up his next meal. Fatigue dulled Aleks’s senses. He knew his reflexes would not be good, but no way would he fail Bilbo. 

“Time,” Bilbo blurted, his demeanor changing from a freaked-out panic to dignified nonchalance. 

_When in doubt, bluff._

Bilbo straightened his coat. “Actually, it wasn’t all that difficult.” The hobbit had one hand clamped about the hilt of one of his daggers – it had been there the whole while – and as he paced, his gaze dipped forever downward. 

_Find it, Bilbo._

That’s when it happened. The hobbit seemed to freeze, his gaze rushing towards Aleks. 

“Ask us, Preciousss,” Gollum demanded. 

“Uh.” Bilbo’s gaze darted to a spot out of Aleks’s sight, then returned to him. 

_Bingo._ Aleks hoped he was reading the situation correctly, because he was acting. His arrow sliced through the air until it plunked into the ground next to Gollum’s heel. 

The creature whipped around, and Bilbo bashed him over the head with the pommel of his dagger. 

“Tricksy hobbitses!” Gollum shrieked and leaped at Bilbo, tackling him to the ground. 

Aleks raced for them as the two tussled. One minute, Gollum was on top, his hands around Bilbo’s neck, the next Bilbo had wiggled free and gained the upper hand with a punch to the nose. They rolled among the rocks and trickling pools of water, splashing and grunting. 

Aleks charged into their midst, cursing under his breath. _Well, this didn’t go like the book._ He threw himself at Gollum, his body crashing into the wiry thing and knocking him off of Bilbo. The hobbit gasped for breath, each inhale labored. 

Gollum proved tougher than Aleks had imagined. It was like wrestling a rubber band, and a strong one at that. How could the thing contort that way? Every time Aleks thought he had him pinned, the creature twisted in a manner no man could match – nor dwarf, Aleks was pretty sure – and came at him with open, snapping jaws. And his breath? Centuries of putrid, decaying things must have been stuck to his few remaining teeth. _Pah,_ but it was foul. 

“What is it?” Gollum hissed. “What is it, Preciouss? Attacks us, it does. _Gollum. Gollum.”_

Its flailing elbow connected with Aleks’s cheekbone in a painful crack. Aleks bundled the wiry creature up with arms and legs and hurled it from him. It bounded back like it’d hit a trampoline, its bony fingers scrambling for his neck. Gollum jerked back with a cry of glee, and Aleks saw Daphne’s ceramic dagger in its hand, poised overhead. _Uh oh._

There was a dull thunk, and Gollum toppled onto his side, the dagger clattering onto the stony floor beneath him. As he fell, Bilbo swam into view, his brown eyes wide and dagger held aloft in the reversed position. Hobbit and satyr stared at each other, Gollum’s body unmoving and splayed partially across Aleks’s prone form. Aleks sagged back, his head hitting the hard ground. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Er. Did I…I didn’t kill him, did I?”

Wouldn’t that put a pickle into Daph’s time-line? Aleks forced himself to a seat and leaned over the creature, two fingers pressed to its neck. “No. He’s alive.” Aleks rubbed gritty hands on his jeans before running them over his face, his exhaustion returning with a vengeance. Sleep. A bedroll and a piece of ground. That’s all he wanted. Well, that and to find his family intact. _You guys better be okay,_ he thought towards the missing dwarves and Daphne. 

He levered himself to his feet, grabbing Daph’s knife and returning it to the waistband of his pants. His bow appeared in his field of vision, and he scooped it up with fumbling fingers. “Got it?” Aleks asked.

“It seems rather plain if you ask me.” Bilbo returned to his side, displaying something to him with an open palm.

Aleks reeled back, tripping over Gollum and crashing to the ground as his satyr nature threatened to go supernova. _Mine,_ a part of him snarled, instantly turning his sight a sanguine red. His face contorted, and Bilbo backpedaled in a hurry, the Ring vanishing into a pocket. 

Sanity returned like a bucketful of icy water to the face. Aleks drew a shaky hand through his hair. Daphne had told him, but he’d had no idea. It was like the worst parts of him all rose up in unison to stage a coup. He felt dirty in his soul. “J-Just keep that thing away from me, okay?” Another drag of one hand through his hair. “You don’t feel anything?”

Bilbo shook his head fast. “It…” He seemed at a loss of what to say, or how to say it.

“It almost had me. Yeah, I got that.” With a disbelieving toss of his head, Aleks regained his feet and the bow, ignoring the way the world seemed to tilt before him. A quick check revealed Gollum was still out but breathing normally. “Let’s…” Another quick check around, his nerves stretched to the breaking limit by the evil _thing_ that had tried to claim him. “Let’s get out of here, man.”

They made tracks back towards the hole that had granted them access to this lower level. Aleks almost walked past the right spot – he was that tired – but Bilbo called him back, pointing to the opening in the ceiling. Aleks gave Bilbo a boost up into the shaft above, and then he jumped, catching the lip with his hands. Muscles along his back, shoulders, and abdomen protested as he pulled himself upwards. 

When this was over, he wanted a vacation. Did Erebor have any hot spots? With the dwarves’ love of good ale, there had to be a bar or two. _One chick for every three guys. Erebor is gunna bite._ After everything back home, he wasn’t too keen on hanging with humans, but what else was there? Some uppity elf? Or a hobbit woman he’d never be able to look at without feeling like some kind of perv? 

_Dude._ He banished the thoughts. What, was he becoming a chick? _Head in the game, Hunt. Head in the game._

He filched one of the few pieces of jerky left in Bilbo’s bag and got them going at a jog. The worst had to be over. Right? Home stretch, Ring secured?

They rounded a corner, and he screeched to a halt. Bilbo plowed into his back. His hand splayed behind him, and Aleks slowly backed them up. How could he have taken such a wrong turn? 

Masses of goblins were swarming all around them. It was reminiscent of that freaky scene in _Aliens_ when Ripley finds herself in the middle of the alien queen’s nest, right before the queen spots her. So far, the goblins had not noticed them – he and Bilbo had emerged from a passage at one end of the main cavern. Back, back, they retreated. Aleks didn’t know about Bilbo, but his heart was pounding so loud, he thought it a miracle every goblin head in sight wasn’t craning around in his direction. 

Then he spotted it. The bag. Everything in him seized up. His Ruger. The bow Thorin had bought for him in Rivendell. His mp3 player. _Everything_ was in that bag.

That bag held his best chance for saving Thorin. Even if the rifle wasn’t as high-powered as many weapons, he was confident he could seriously hamper Azog with it. Really, how effective would Azog be if Aleks was blowing holes in him while the creature tried to fight Thorin? Aleks didn't care if it was underhanded.

_I need that bag._

The instant he and Bilbo were out of sight, safely hidden in the tunnel, Aleks whirled to him. “Bilbo, can you find your way back to camp?”

“Of course,” Bilbo responded, his brow furrowed. 

“Put the Ring on. Daph said you can use it pretty safely. Follow this passage to the next T. To where it ends,” he clarified, “and hang a left. Then pass four tunnels and take the fifth. It’s the one we slid down. Can you find your way from there?”

“Master Aleks, I am not confident you know where we are.”

“I’m sure of it, Bilbo.”

“Evidence suggests otherwise,” the hobbit said with irony, rocking back upon his heels. “It’s the bag.” Shrewd eyes stared up at him.

Aleks huffed out in exasperation. “Bilbo…” At the hobbit’s sharp look, he relented. “Yes, it’s the bag. My Ruger is in there. If we are going to save Thorin, a rifle would be handy.”

Bilbo stared at him with a rare, intense sobriety. “Aleks.”

“I have to try, Bilbo. This is Thorin we’re talking about. I don’t want him to win Erebor just to die a couple days later. It’s not fair.”

The hobbit shuffled his feet without much noise, hands in his pockets and brows low. “I don’t like this,” he said with a shake of the head.

Aleks offered him a small smile. “That’s why I’m sending you ahead.”

Bilbo shook his head again. “That is not comforting. No, not comforting at all. I count you a friend, too, Master Hunt. I should hate to lose you.”

He hadn’t expected those words or the sentiments behind them. After everything, it still shocked him somewhat to have people who cared. 

_And what happens to Daph if I get my fool self killed?_

He’d best not get caught then. 

With a clap on Bilbo’s shoulder, he said, “I’ll be careful.” The hobbit’s left brow climbed higher. “I will,” Aleks promised. “Bilbo, I’m no use in hand-to-hand combat. How else do I protect him?”

Bilbo sighed, his head panning towards the passage into the main cavern. Hands in his pockets, the hobbit said, “Alright, then. What do we do?”

OoOoOo

Ten minutes later they raced from the scene, the duffle banging against Aleks’s spine with every step…and about a gazillion rabid goblins howling in fury at their backs.

“Left, left!” Aleks shouted.

Bilbo veered left at the T. “If that was your idea of careful, Master Aleks, I do not want to see you at your spontaneous best,” the hobbit called above the din.

Aleks wasn’t certain he wanted to, either. _Daylight,_ he kept chanting to himself. They had to reach daylight.

Inspiration hit. Aleks yanked the duffle around and tackled the zipper. His hand thrust inside, rooting around as they passed the first passage, then the second. _Running out of time, Hunt._ Each second that passed without success ratcheted up tension until he growled between clenched teeth. Where was…? _Aha!_ He snatched the mp3 player from the bag and zipped it back up. 

They barreled around a turn, passing the third tunnel. Right before the next sharp turn was the fourth passage. He yanked his SD card from the mp3 player, turned the volume on full and cranked up the first song on internal memory. Sliding it down the fourth passage like a skeet ball, he hustled Bilbo past that tunnel and around another turn.

Behind them, the sounds of AC/DC blasted through the tunnels, echoing madly. Bilbo shot him a disbelieving look, and Aleks grinned back. 

Hey, at the very least, it’d give them a minute of breathing space. He’d lose the music stored in the device’s internal storage, but his favs were on the SD card. No biggie. Daph still had her player. 

They sped down the passageway to the sloped incline. Aleks propelled Bilbo up with one large shove to the hobbit’s extended foot. Bilbo squawked but used the boost to gain the next tunnel. Aleks scrambled up after him, bare toes chafing against jagged stone.

They reached the cave, but Aleks bypassed it to grab Daph’s bag. Bilbo shot through the small hole, disappearing from view. Aleks heard dwarf voices rise in surprise at their burglar’s abrupt return. 

“Goblins,” he heard Bilbo pant. 

Aleks thrust Daphne’s bag through the hole, then began to shove the dwarves’ stuff after it. Big hands appeared at the opposite end, clearing the gear out of the way.

“Leave it, laddie,” Gloin growled. 

“We need it,” Aleks protested, his gaze darting back down the passageway. A new song queued up: Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. “Guess they didn’t kill it yet,” he mumbled to himself.

_“Now,_ Master Aleks.” Gloin’s loud command dragged him through the notch before his brain registered the words. No nay-saying that tone. Rising to his feet, he rejoiced to see brilliant sunlight. Dude, they were saved. 

_Gloin, Bifur, Bombur… Where is…?_ There he was. Bofur stood next to--

Aleks’ head turned from the cave’s former entrance to the new, jagged hole someone had punched into its side. Back to the dwarf who stood beside the Brown Wizard and the elves, Belegon and Caranoran. Brethil, he noted, helped the other dwarves cover the hole leading into the Goblin Town tunnels. 

“Satyr, your assistance please,” Radagast said with unveiled impatience. 

A monstrously huge _whump_ sounded from the rear of the cave. The goblins had found them. Another large thump against the back stone wall. A crack zigzagged its way down the surface. 

“Naiad, time is pressing.”

He left their defense to the dwarves, hobbit, and elves and hurried to the wizard’s side. “Sunlight,” he rushed. “Why aren’t we just leaving?” Only then did the full scene before him register. Bofur stood, hands resting upon a pale tree trunk. A trunk belonging to a tree that hadn’t been there mere hours before when he and Bilbo had fled. A tree, he realized with dawning horror, that had Daph’s energy signature. 

_No._

He pushed his way to her, dislodging all but Bofur. Panic began to steal through him. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Another thought: that’s what the earth-shaking sound had been the night before. His sister had protected him. _Mahal, Daph._

“I will say this,” the dwarf told him, halting his murmured monologue to Daphne. “You naiads know how to make an impression.” The dwarf threw him a grin, but Aleks saw the worry swimming in those brown-green eyes. It halted any words of censure forming on Aleks’s tongue. 

The rock wall behind them splintered with a tremendous crack. Everyone reacted, all but Aleks and the wizard hefting weapons and moving into position before the fragmenting wall.

“I have done all I can to draw her back. I believe the rest is in your hands.” The wizard turned and raised his staff just as the back wall exploded into the cave. 

Gloin shouted his battle cry, a call echoed up by Bifur. In a split second, the noise level turned deafening as the two parties clashed within the small cave’s confines. 

Leaving their fates in Aleks’s hands, for he didn’t believe for a second that the dwarves would leave without all of their party accounted for. 

Aleks pressed his palms to the trunk, closed his eyes, and sent his own satyr’s power towards the shining remainder of his sister. She wasn’t fully tree - not yet, not with that energy signature. It gave him a chance.

OoOoOo

Something disturbed my peace.

 _…My?…_

The sun bathed my outstretched arms, and the wind teased my leaves. A chorus of trees dominated everything. Spread out though we were, our song sang of unity. It ruled everything, that joyous melody. 

I drifted, content to immerse myself in the refrain. Our voices spoke of life, and difficulty, and triumph. We hardy few overcame the barren landscape, the wind-swept conditions, the poor soil. We thrived in defiance and shared in the victory.

That same something came again, more persistent, disharmonizing my own voice. “…was the one and only time Bombur dared speak back to Uncle Balfur, I tell you, my lass. Poor mite could not sit down in comfort for near a week, it was.” A husky chortle and a pressure upon my bark. 

Why did that voice sound familiar? It was out of place, a discordant note within nature’s chorus. It anchored me so long as it persisted, but the second that voice ceased from speaking, I began to drift off. 

A hollow, woodsy sound came next – a clarinet? It was joined by low chanting, its timber different from the first voice. What was--?

_Radagast._ The wizard’s words rang through me like a gong, a gong that sawed at the threads binding me to the seductive melody of the trees, destroying and denying me a return to the mindless, floating state of peace of before. 

Pain. Confusion. Fear. 

Resentment.

_Wait._ Why should I be afraid? Radagast wouldn’t--

Radagast. An image sprang to mind: gangly old man with an abstract air, a ferret upon his shoulder and a bird perched upon his conical brown hat. 

The clarinet’s notes trilled to a stop. 

“Keep going, Master Bofur. We have her attention,” the wizard said before returning to his senseless fountain of words. 

Another pressure - a pat? Bofur’s image came to mind. I could almost see him: floppy, misshapen hat, tanned skin and brilliant smile. Bofur. My protector and friend. The one who drew an endless stream of smiles from me. Bifur’s image popped up before me next, followed by Bombur. What was happening? 

_“Och,_ lassie, you are a stubborn one, that you are.” A soft, scolding sound. “This is no way to treat a friend, now, is it? You cannot expect a dwarf to carry the entire conversation on his own.”

A touch of amusement. As if Bofur ever had problems carrying on one-sided conversations. He was persistent. The long-ago dinner at Elrond’s table returned to me, and with it, the fog clouding my mind lifted.

I’d gone tree. 

I immediately tried to extricate myself, but no matter how I tugged, I remained trapped. Fear exploded like a swarm of hornets, stinging and biting, spurring me on to higher and higher heights of panic.

“She’s frightened,” Radagast broke off long enough to comment. 

_Ya think?_

“Frightened?” No amusement in Bofur’s voice that time.

“Why?” Caranoran? Was that Thranduil’s youngest? His voice was so clipped and tense, he sounded like Gellamon.

A low hum. Lassitude began to claim me, the lure of tree-hood returning. I lost it, thrashing within myself for an escape from the cage I’d created. 

“I believe she is struggling to free herself.” Radagast returned to his chant.

“Hwinneth,” my foster brother said, hesitant and more that a little bit worried. Not that I couldn’t empathize. I was pretty done in by the enormity of the situation. Amma had warned me, but I’d had no idea.

“Don’t you mind the elf.” Bofur. Solid, cheerful, calm. Exasperated? A mock sigh. “An elf alarmed at a tree. Dwarves, now, we’re made of sterner stuff.” Caranoran must have sputtered, for Bofur’s body, pressed up against my trunk as it was, trembled with suppressed laughter. Either that, or my foster brother had placed a knife to his throat. Though - Bofur. Yeah, I didn’t think a knife to his throat would stop his words or cause him to quake with fear. 

“Never fear, lass. We’ll not be going anywhere without you.” Bofur’s voice turned dry. “We’d dig you up and cart you back to Erebor as is, but lass? Did you have to grow so bleeding big?” Another tsk. “Lack of foresight, to be sure, but - eh - you did protect the laddies, didn’t you now?”

Laddies? _Aleks. Bilbo._ Where were they? In the background murmur of low conversations, their voices failed to reach me. Did that mean they weren’t there? 

Something must have passed between the men, for Bofur immediately launched into an anecdote involving the younger Durin brothers. 

How to describe the depth of the debt I came to owe that dwarf? In that dark, formless time, Bofur’s endless stream of fables and remembrances became a lifeline. He spoke of Bombur, often at his brother’s expense. Once or twice, Bombur dipped his own oar into the river of words, telling me not to take heed to his “daft” older brother, because there was a time… 

On and on the words flowed as Radagast’s power sustained me, keeping me from succumbing to the lure of this strange flesh I inhabited. More than once, Bofur’s recount flagged as he laughed at his own jokes. He told me about Mib and the children Bombur and his wife expected to have. 

“Poor Mib,” he said at one point in a falsely commiserative voice. “It’s his appetite, see?”

If I’d been in human form, I’d have about died at that one. 

The dwarf never left. He stayed right next to me, chatting and singing. Yes, singing. His voice lacked the ethereal clarity and beauty of an elf’s, but I quickly grew to prefer it. It was real. Earthy. 

I’d never had anyone sing to me before. Well, not other than Amma or Appa. Bofur likely would do the same for anyone, but it meant the world to me, warming me to my core. A wry thought: truly, the dwarf didn’t have a single shy bone in his entire four-foot-ten-ish frame. 

Bofur played his clarinet, something that seemed oddly familiar though I couldn’t remember ever hearing it before. He proved to have remarkable skill. Another joined him – _Bifur,_ I knew - at different points.

Through it all, I struggled, raged, and wept with each failure. I wanted out. I did not want my life to be this meaningless, bodiless existence. Who would? I mean, a tree? It meant a complete loss of self. The death of _me._ If that wasn’t enough to keep a girl fighting, I didn’t know what was. So I rallied with each of Radagast’s attempts to boost me, throwing my all into the effort and tiring myself out as the minutes swept by.

I failed. Time and again. If not for Bofur’s stabilizing calm, his warm humor and dry wit, I’d have gone mad within the confines of my own mind. Words could never capture just how this dwarf, one of the three I’d trusted from the start, became so much more important to me during those long, amorphous hours. If asked, I would have labeled him friend before this, yet the label would have lacked the depth and solidity it now assumed. 

Selfless, his act. Compassionate. By demonstration, he proved that he was likely the best friend I’d ever had. A wry thought: he was probably everyone’s best friend with his easy ways. He embraced people freely into his affections and treated all like valued companions. I’m sure Bilbo viewed him the same way. 

“It will be well, my lass,” he said more than once. “Don’t you fret. We’ll get past this, mark my words.” Because he said it, I almost believed it. He made me feel safe. Important. 

It was a jolt, then, when Bofur left me. The ground reverberated with some huge concussion, and a new worry raised its head. What was happening to my friends? I couldn’t see. I could only feel those tremors underfoot and panic. 

Radagast’s chant vanished, and the shield between me and the nature of my current flesh evaporated. Tree-ness began to reclaim me, stealing away will and thoughts. _Nooo!_ Once again, I lost pieces of myself as cohesion broke down and lassitude conquered me in steady, sizable chunks. 

I was screaming my brains out, silent and unheard, when fate decided to offer me a new lifeline. “Daph, can you hear me?”

_Aleks?_

Even through my freak out, I hesitated. It was _Aleks._ Where I had wrapped Bofur’s presence around me like a cozy blanket and found comfort, Aleks’s was a slap to the face. Distrust crept over me as I sensed him inspecting my energy for a clue of what to do. He fed me energy of his own, and some of it took, strengthening me, but most seemed to bounce back like we were polarized magnets.

Aleks grumbled something about the twin bond, and a speck of uneasiness joined the overall air of distrust plaguing me. Though a speck, it threatened to go all King-Kong in a heartbeat depending on what happened next. It wasn’t as if Aleks and I were all great with each other. Though we no longer circled like gunslingers at high noon on the streets of Tombstone, there was a world of wariness between us. 

Okay. To be honest, it was all one-sided: mine. Aleks played the part of the remorseful brother, kind and eager. I was the one still leery. The jury was out on which scared me more, Aleks or tree-hood.

Aleks tugged on some fiber of energy at my core. The thread seemed atrophied and dead, serving no purpose, so at first I couldn’t figure out what he was doing. When I did, I almost ran in the opposite direction. It was the twin-bond. He was trying to revive it. 

Naiads birthed twins. Period. No exceptions but for when one baby died in the womb. Dryad and satyr, meant to work together, to be the yin and yang aspects of a naiad team. Aleks was probably my best shot at freedom, yet I did not want that bond resuscitated. It had been a blessed relief when it had faded from existence the first time, cutting me off from the seething disgust and hatred sloughing off of him to poison me. There was no worse fate than being linked mentally to someone who loathed the very ground you walked upon. I hadn’t been able to avoid the antipathy radiating off of him. There’d been no escape. 

Not until the day it had vanished.

He tugged at it a couple times, demanding my attention. _We’re in this together, Daph._

It seemed to me I’d heard something similar from him not too long ago.

_Daph, we are losing here,_ he snapped. _Goblins are overrunning the cave. Get it? No one’s willing to leave until you revert back._ Sour disappointment and anger flared, colored by a whiff of humiliation. _Decide then. We all die in here together, and you don’t have to be joined to your evil twin, or we do this and everybody gets to live._

That he’d picked up on the idea that I preferred death to associating with him, I regretted. It wasn’t true…not exactly.

Fear. 

I was tired of fear. Tired of being a wimp. Tired of whining about the past and agonizing over every decision. Each second took on Significance, like a scene in a movie where everything slows down. You know the hero is at the precipice of some great revelation, and the music climbs to a crescendo as the hero finally figures it out, or makes the agonizing decision. That was my moment. At the time, it felt like the universe stood up and took notice as some indefinable thing clicked into place within me, something that had been stunted and neglected. 

Maybe I was finally growing up. Late, but then when had I ever done things like others? What had started in the safety of the Elvenking’s care finished here. A resolution fired within my soul. I was done being afraid. I wanted to face life, accepting what it brought me, both good and bad. 

_Do it,_ I told him.

This time, when he reached for me, I reached back. Both of us funneled our efforts into the sad, withered tether between us. I didn’t know about Aleks, but the sight of it made me think of our parents and how they’d wished things to be. Aleks and I sure had messed everything up.

At first, it seemed like we were doomed to fail, and I seriously considered cutting him loose…except I didn’t want to. For once, I had everything to win, and I was not giving it up. My gwathadar. Caranoran and Queen Rinel. Bofur and the dwarves. I gathered every ounce of energy my roots could absorb and collected it in my core. It throbbed like a pulsar, brighter and brighter as I leeched more of my reserves into its mass. 

Aleks saw it. He must have. Approval somehow wormed its way down the dilapidated link, our first hint of success. Aleks whooped aloud. “Okay. We got this. Hit me.”

_What?_

“Hit me. Let ‘er rip. All that energy you’ve got. I can use it, Daph.” His urgency hit the rafters. “Hurry!”

I thrust the energy through the bond and witnessed it swell and thrum with new vitality. That fast, I got a sense of my brother’s absolute determination…and exhaustion. We were going to be terribly vulnerable when we were done, a fact that I soon as I thought, I knew he picked up on as conjoined as we were in our efforts.

Aleks flared with assent. “Get ready to run,” he shouted to the others. 

“Aye?” I heard Gloin bellow.

“We’ll need help,” Aleks added in a near roar.

“Master Baggins, to the horses.” Radagast. 

Horses? When had they been retrieved? 

“Beorn arrives. Go. Now, Master Hobbit.”

That was the last thing I heard, for Aleks accepted the energy I’d shoved in his direction and used it to tear me from my moorings. 

Pain.

Disorientation.

Blackness.


	31. Destressing with Oreos

### Chapter 30

Aleks nursed an aching head in one hand as he dug through his ransacked duffle with the other. Another night, another cave. He remembered bits and pieces of being propped up on a galloping horse, but he hadn't really awakened. 

“Oin would fix you right up if he were here, laddie,” Gloin said in his habitual (read: _loud)_ rumble. Aleks winced as the dwarf patted him on the back hard enough to send pinballs of pain ricocheting through his head. 

“S’okay,” Aleks mumbled. He’d already downed three of Daphne’s stash of pain relievers from her first aid kit -- he didn’t much trust his own kit since it’d been in the goblins’ possession for weeks. “Daph rocks at whipping up herbal remedies and stuff. I’ll be okay in a few.”

The dwarf nodded absently and leaned back against his saddle. This cave, everyone was pleased to discover, was big enough to allow them to bring the horses inside, concealing them without the need to send them off to some distant, and not readily accessible, location. 

Aleks’s attention drifted to his twin, who had yet to rouse. She slept peacefully enough, but her breaths were a bit shallow for everyone’s liking. Caranoran had commented about it more than once and watched her like a hawk. The prince sat with legs outstretched by her side, his long fingers smoothing her hair. As much as Aleks resented the elf, it was plain he did care. Even with his urgent desire to get back to his ailing father, Caranoran had not protested once when Beorn suggested they head south before venturing east into Mirkwood in order to lose their pursuers. The skin-changer and Radagast had departed soon afterward, both firm in their determination to thin orc numbers.

Would his relationship with his twin improve now? Aleks hoped for the best. They’d been linked for the first time in years. He’d gotten a good feel for Daph in that brief moment when the link had gone active. Surely it had done the same for her. 

As for the rest of the group, each had bloody bandages upon his body. That he and Daph had been protected by their companions at great price was something Aleks couldn’t doubt, and his chest tightened with each visual reminder. Belegon had been quick to remind him upon waking, “In the future, please keep in mind that though goblins and orcs prefer to avoid sunlight, they _are_ capable of enduring it.” 

‘Nuff said. 

Aleks’s imagination provided a detailed picture of the party running for their horses, himself and Daph dead weights that only slowed them down. Their companions must have had to fight every inch of the way from the cave. Bofur had a bandage on his forearm that had been slow to cease bleeding. Bifur had bruised all the fingers of one hand so badly they looked puffed up and purple. Gloin had taken a hit across his back - shallow, thankfully - and the elves didn’t look much better. 

Even Bilbo had not escaped unscathed - the hobbit’s shoulder had been dislocated. Someone had popped it back into place and lashed the arm before his chest. How it had happened, Aleks had not yet heard, but the battle had changed the hobbit. Where before Bilbo seemed hesitant to take charge, only asserting himself when absolutely necessary, Bilbo now met gazes head-on and sat up with a new measure of confidence. 

“What exactly did you do, Master Aleks?”

At Caranoran’s weary question, Aleks relaxed a bit. He’d half expected the elves to blame him for Daphne’s condition, and to an extent, they’d be right. He’d ripped her free. He didn’t regret it, but he was kind of concerned about what it might have done to her. He hadn’t a choice at the time, but still, he worried. 

“What do you know about a naiad’s nature?” Aleks asked as he peered into his bag. He grimaced at the ruined mess that had once been his deck of cards. The cards lay strewn in the bottom of his duffle, and were they _sticky._ Dude, he really hoped some goblin hadn’t relieved himself on his things. 

A stirring beside the elf. A raspy, exhausted voice: “’m okay.”

From either side of Daphne, both Caranoran and Bofur reacted. Caranoran’s hand resumed its soft caress – Aleks bit back words about that – and Bofur reached over with his injured arm to tap her chin with one finger. With a small grin, the dwarf said, “I did not know you were so fond of my brother that you would go to such lengths to emulate him, lass.”

Bombur got it immediately and laughed, his big belly jiggling. Aleks smiled. How well he recalled the dwarves having to carry Bombur through Mirkwood after an inadvertent spill into the enchanted waters of the foul river Beorn had warned them about. 

_You okay?_ Aleks asked privately. 

Daphne’s lips curled, and she murmured, “I don’t know what Bombur’s deal is, but we ladies do like to be carted around in style.”

_Daph?_

No sign that she heard him. She could be ignoring him, but he really didn’t get that vibe. Concerned, he inspected her closer. Her energy was low. Not dangerously so, but there was a muted quality to it. 

Aleks stood, immediately regretting it as his head gave a painful thump in response. Making his way to her, he ignored Caranoran’s narrowed-eyed look and sat near her knees. “Daph. You didn’t hear me?” 

Caranoran’s silver brow winged upwards, but Daphne frowned and turned her head in his direction. The frown deepened, and she looked around the cave, her gaze freezing on Bofur’s arm. 

She hesitated, her gaze flicking from Aleks to Caranoran. Weighing. Assessing. Then she seemed to shake herself and faced Aleks, meeting his gaze directly. 

_Daph, do you hear me at all?_

Nothing. She gave not so much as a twitch of an eyelid.

“Help me up,” she beseeched Caranoran. The elf curled one arm around her shoulders and aided her to a seat.

“How fare you, Hwinneth?” the prince asked lowly.

She gave him a wobbly smile. “Decidedly not tree-like,” she answered.

Aleks interrupted. “You didn’t hear me at all, did you?” 

Her head zoomed towards him. “You said something?”

“More than once.” Had he damaged her? 

Her eyes dropped and turned vacant for a moment, then returned to his. “You didn’t hear that at all, did you?” No real question there.

“Zip,” he said, a lump forming in his gut. 

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, brow furrowed. 

“What did you do, naiad?” Caranoran, defensive, suspicious.

Aleks’s spine snapped straight, and his teeth ground together. He was getting fed up with the guy. 

Before he could respond, Daph intervened. “He did what had to be done,” she said, her hand reaching out to touch the elf’s wrist. “If he hadn’t, I’d be gone. A tree for good,” she explained. Her hand retreated and rubbed at the base of her neck. “He had to rip me free.” A small, humorless smile. “Don’t blame Aleks. It was my fault. I did something stupid. I panicked and landed myself in a heap of trouble.”

Her head turned his way. Hesitantly, her eyes lifted to Aleks’s. 

“You protected them,” Bombur said from his seat on the other side of the narrow cave. In the greenish glow of the last – Aleks assumed it was the last – glow stick, the dwarf’s round features looked faintly sinister. 

Aleks found it hilarious. Bombur. Sinister. Daphne’s brow quirked. Aleks shot a significant look Bombur’s way but her expression turned confused. 

“What?” she asked.

“Tell me Bombur doesn’t look like some villain out of a horror flick,” he whispered. The elves reacted, inspecting the dwarf, but the dwarves and Bilbo didn’t hear him. They sure noticed the sudden onslaught of attention zooming Bombur’s way, though.

Daph snickered under her breath and reached across Bofur to drag her tote towards her. 

“Lass,” Bombur said with shammed affront. “Laughter at my expense?” He tsked. 

Aleks shook his head, helping Daphne to unzip the tote. “Sorry, man. You just look…” He halted, searching for a way to describe it without insulting him.

Daphne snickered again. “Open mouth, insert foot.”

“Thanks.” 

“We aim to please,” she said with a lopsided smile. Transferring that smile to Bombur, she said, “Nothing bad, I promise. You just look a little scary in this light.”

“Scary?” Bofur echoed in disbelief. “Bombur?”

“Aye, and I can look scary,” Bombur said with an edge. “Are you implying I cannot look frightening?”

“Aye, that is exactly what I’m saying,” Bofur returned, emphasizing his comment with his pipe-filled hand. “Soft-looking, you are. That would be your secret weapon.”

“My secret weapon?” Bombur repeated in disbelief, his round face wreathed in a crinkled grin.

“Here they go again,” Aleks murmured. While the two verbally fenced, Aleks again asked, “ _Are_ you okay?”

Daphne nodded, the merest dip of the head. “I’m free, and I’m _me,_ Aleks. That’s more than I’d hoped for.”

“But?” he pressed.

She nibbled on her lower lip and busied herself with removing bandages and her first aid kit. “I can’t sense anything,” she admitted. “Not you, not any nearby plants.”

OoOoOo

Aleks’s expression turned stricken. He probably couldn’t imagine a life without his connection to animals, and to an extent, I felt the same about my plants. What if I’d left behind my dryad nature altogether?

 _Be grateful,_ I reminded myself. I could be stuck with a life in which my only contribution to society was exhaling oxygen. Still, grief tightened my chest and fear threatened to return, but I’d promised myself I was done with being ruled by fear. There was nothing I could do if I’d shorn away that side of myself, and I refused to start playing the blame game. There had been enough of that between Aleks and me. 

So, I ignored it, focusing on what I could do instead of my (maybe) loss. I squeezed Aleks’s hand. With the loss of that part of me, the twin bond had pulled a vanishing act. I couldn’t feel a thing from him, and that was unnerving. I clung to what I’d felt that brief second when we _were_ bound and tried to ignore the suspicious thoughts racing through my head. 

Clearing my throat, I demanded Bofur’s arm. “Let me see.”

_“Och,_ ‘tis fine, my Daphne,” the dwarf said kindly enough. 

“Probably, but I still want to see it.” I crooked a finger. With the oddest twitch of the lips, his mustache decidedly wilted-looking, he offered me the arm. 

The bandage had been knotted along the underside of his arm, away from the wound. More than likely, Bofur was right. The dwarves had all seen battle, and the Three Bs (I rather liked Aleks’s appellation) were no exception. They couldn’t have failed to pick up a thing or three about binding their injuries. 

Bofur’s injury was no flesh wound. It had been cleaned, but even now it bled sluggishly. My concern ratcheted up another level. “Bofur,” I whispered. 

“It’s naught,” he dismissed with a small toss of the head. 

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing. _This_ is not nothing,” I huffed with slit eyes. 

Bombur and Bifur chuckled. Bofur gave that impish grin. 

“Ye should have seen the three o’ them after the battle at the walls of Khazad-dum,” Gloin interjected. “A bloody mess, the lot o’ them, yet still yammering betwixt themselves about who had killed more orcs.” Gloin sniffed. “Not a one keeping count,” he muttered into his cup. 

“I suppose you beat them?” I asked as I mopped at the edges of Bofur’s wound. Aleks hovered at my shoulder, holding the first aid kit for me so that I was unencumbered. With my gift on the fritz, I couldn’t feel what herbs worked best with Bofur’s body, so I had to go based upon past experience. I nibbled on my lower lip. He’d better not have any allergies, I thought. The surge of emotion that welled up within me at the idea of hurting him surprised me, but I supposed it shouldn’t have. We’d been through something together, the toymaker and I. He might see it differently, but I felt like there was this new connection between us. Bofur could never _not_ matter to me. Not after what he’d done. 

First, I treated the area with gotu kola as I flushed the wound to be sure nothing had gotten lodged in there. That done, I soaked some clean bandaging in a horsebalm tincture and placed it over the wound. Then using a dry bandage, I wrapped the whole thing back up to my satisfaction. Whether he liked it or not, I was going to keep an eye on that injury.

“I’ll need to change that compress in a few hours,” I warned him. 

“Aye,” he said, quite affable. He had the strangest grin on his face. 

“You are an odd one, my friend,” I told him, then kissed his cheek. It wasn’t enough to express…well, everything. My arms flew around the toymaker and squeezed tight. Bofur hugged me with his good arm, and my head tucked into his neck. Familiar scents filled my nose – pipeweed, cedar, and leather, all undergirded with his own unique aroma. Chills broke out upon my body, and I hugged him tighter. 

It took a full minute before I was ready to extricate myself from the embrace. I pulled back, eyes avoiding his. One hand tugged on his tunic. “Thank you,” I said, the word hopelessly inadequate. “You always seem to be saving me.”

A small, smug smile curved his lips. _“Och,_ lass, what do you expect a dwarf to do when he gets thanked so very prettily?”

I snorted, the odd tension dissipating. “Now you sound like Kíli,” I teased as I crawled to Caranoran to check his wounds. “Flirt.”

Bofur made noises of objection behind my back, and Aleks got this weird expression on his face, his gaze returning to Bofur as if startled by a thought. 

“What?” I asked him as I took a look at the gash across Caranoran’s thigh. 

“N-nothing,” Aleks hastened to assure. “Nothing at all.”

Right. “Your nose just grew a couple inches.”

Aleks barked in laughter. Gloin perked up with an, “Eh?”

“A story, Gloin, from our lands,” Aleks told him. “About this guy name Pinocchio. Every time he told a lie, his nose grew.”

“His nose grew?” Bilbo asked doubtfully, a slight smile beginning on his lips.

“His nose grew,” Aleks confirmed. He launched into an abbreviated, and artistic, version of the tale while I worked my way from person to person. Bifur theatrically presented his cheek when I’d finished with him, only to earn a face-full of Bofur’s jacket. 

From the easy chatter that arose, I learned Beorn and Radagast had taken it upon themselves to act the decoy, luring Azog and the others from our path while we stole away southward. I’d only lost one day, and the dwarves and elves had agreed that we would hasten to Mirkwood the next morning. 

I wondered if my changed state would mean an easier time of it. A perk, it seemed. If the dryad side stayed dormant. _(Gone, gone, gone,_ a part of me kept babbling, uncaring of any benefit.) 

“I don’t suppose you still have _Saboteur?”_ Aleks asked when everyone was again seated comfortably on their bedrolls. 

I shook my head in the negative and rooted through my tote. It had been a stressful week. Actually, it had been a stressful couple of _months._ Time to drown my sorrows in some good, old-fashioned junk food. “Left it with Estel,” I told him absently. _Woot!_ I grabbed the last vestiges of chocolate from the bag and began to toss little silver packets to each person. Belegon snatched his mid-air with a wide grin and promptly tore the foil wrapping from it. He plopped the entire confection into his mouth and chewed with delight. The others followed suit as Aleks and I demonstrated how to open the packaging. 

“Man, I miss this stuff,” Aleks groaned. 

“Well, enjoy, because this is the last of it,” I said. 

Bombur pretended to grab his heart in a swoon. Gloin threw him a look of disdain, chomping away but not really impressed based upon his expression. 

“You were hiding this all along?” Caranoran asked with mild censure, his eyes again dimmed by the low lighting. 

“Who me?” I asked with a smile. 

He tugged upon my hair. Frowned. “Your hair has grown, _penneth.”_

I paused mid-chew to finger a lock over my shoulder for examination. _Huh._ He was right. Before this venture, I’d managed to grow it to shoulder length. Now, it hung well past that, dangling near the center of my chest. _Cool._ I lifted a strand. “A benefit to taking root. Who knew?” 

“You are not doing so again,” Caranoran pounced a second before Aleks’s, “Don’t even joke about it,” and Bofur’s abrupt, “No.”

“Aye, ‘tis unanimous,” Gloin grumbled from beneath lowered brows. “No more of this tree business for you.”

A quick scan proved they were all in earnest, not a one showing a trace of amusement. Not even Bofur. “I was just commenting, guys. I didn’t mean I was going to do that again. You couldn’t pay me enough.” 

I slipped the last goody from my bag.

_“Oreos?”_ Aleks pounced, snatching the unopened package from my hands and all but drooling as he brought them to his nostrils and inhaled. “Wait a sec.” He lowered them. “How did you end up with Oreos? They’re my favorite. You’ve always preferred those kiddie cookies.”

“Animal Crackers,” I corrected dryly. What was wrong with that? Chocolate should melt in your mouth. For a cookie, who didn’t like Barnum’s Animal Crackers? _Unnatural to not like Animal Crackers,_ I sniffed to myself. “One can assume Marcus and Nancy were in a bit of a hurry. How else to you explain me ending up with his favorite game?”

Aleks snorted. “True dat.”

“Like another language, it is,” Bofur said from off to my side, his voice droll. “They say the words, and most of them I’m knowing, but not a lick of sense to be made of it.”

“Their music defies explanation,” Caranoran offered, wiggling some fingers at me in a clear command. “There are some songs that are pretty enough, but others defy labeling. To call such ‘music’ bends the definition to the breaking point.”

“Aye,” Gloin agreed heartily. “Though, pretty? Nay, laddie. There is no beauty. Ye cannot stamp your feet to it. All screaming and grating o’ outlandish instruments.”

I narrowed my eyes at my twin as I passed my mp3 player to my foster brother. “Just what did you play for them?” 

Aleks lifted a disdainful brow. “There is nothing wrong with AC/DC or Van Halen.”

“You played heavy metal?” I began to laugh, flopping down onto my bedroll at the idea. “Just for that, you have to share your Oreos.”

“What? I suppose they loved your music,” he muttered. “Snooze-fest.”

“Not all of it,” I corrected in a light tone. The newness of this whole thing hit me again. I could barely believe it – it felt like I had my brother back again. But I’d thought that before, hadn’t I, back in Rivendell? Merciful heavens, but I was scared of this. Hopeful and desperate to believe, but scared. I turned away to hide a sudden wash of tears and met Caranoran’s gaze. 

My foster brother took in my tremulous smile and tearful state. He must have come to the correct conclusion, for he sighed and smoothed my hair over my brow. Setting aside the mp3 player, he said, “Why don’t I aid you in containing all that new hair? I can braid it--”

“No.” Three dwarven voices immediately objected with varying degrees of heat. Gloin looked shocked; Bombur, as horrified as if Caranoran had offered to strip me bare; and Bofur’s face had turned hard and steely. Even Bifur looked insulted, though of course he didn’t respond in Common. 

I exchanged glances with Caranoran, offering him a helpless lift of one shoulder. He agreed with a confused shake of the head. Bilbo stared at the dwarves like they’d lost their collective minds. 

“Daph?” 

At Aleks’s tentative summons, I turned in his direction, sitting up as the mood in the cave turned serious. 

Aleks threw a measuring look the dwarves’ way before turning to me. “If I’m understanding correctly, braids are important in dwarf society. A dwarf cannot simply braid his beard. It is not decoration, but a badge with meaning and significance. Dwarves braid both beards and hair for specific reasons.”

All around dwarves were bobbing their heads in earnest agreement. 

“Aye, and none but closest blood family or a promised may braid another’s hair,” Bombur interjected firmly. He scratched his bearded jowl. “And while I’m not believing the prince meant any insult, to allow him to braid your hair would all but declare you to be courting.” A deeper frown. “That wasn’t your intention. Aye?”

Both Caranoran and I recoiled a bit at the idea, me violently shaking my head, at which Caranoran began to laugh. “You do not need to act as if the idea is that repulsive, Hwinneth.”

I lifted a hand. “No offense.”

He shook his silver head of hair. “None taken. However,” and this he directed to the others, “she is not a dwarf and should not be judged as such.”

Again, it was Gloin who answered, which rather surprised me. Accepting an Oreo from Aleks with a suspicious sniff, he said, “Eh, I suppose you think not, but she’s Aleks’s kin. He’s family, she’s family.” Having said his piece, he nibbled on the Oreo, this time pleased with what he found. He crunched into it fast and held out his hand for more. 

“I’m thinking you should sit closer to me, my lass,” Bofur said with a playful but intent look on his face. “The elf seems a wee bit amorous. We would not want him to be besmirching your honor.”

Amorous. Besmirch? The entire situation cracked me up. I smothered both smile and giggles as best I could while I heeded the dwarf with an apologetic, skyward lift of the eyes for Caranoran. My foster brother rolled his own eyes with a lazy smile. 

“You do not use braids?” Bombur broke in between his love-fest with a huge handful of Oreos. His three dark beard-braids and mustache were liberally sprinkled with cookie crumbs and he took the time to lick each finger of his free hand after demolishing a couple cookies. 

“Naiads?” I asked, my voice rather shrill with the effort to not laugh. I wiped moisture from my eyes, my shoulders starting to shake. 

“Aye.” He paused before devouring the next cookie, his hand inches from his mouth. “Are ye well, Daphne?”

I nodded my head wildly, not daring to meet Aleks’s eyes. Or Bilbo’s, Belegon’s or Caranoran’s. 

“Cookie?” Bombur offered up his mangled stash.

“No, thank you,” I said in a strangled voice. 

He shrugged. Bifur said something to him, and he nodded his head vigorously. “Well, now. You’re ours, see? You cannot go letting just anyone touch your hair.”

“Unseemly,” Gloin threw in.

“Aye,” Bombur agreed.

It was like having someone touch my hair was on a par with a major make-out session in their minds. It was beyond belief. I’d once read something about it in a fanfic. I just hadn’t believed it. To be fair, I’d never researched the matter. It seemed so fanciful. Yet, dwarves were proud creatures. I could easily see them sporting their outlandish braids with pride if they designated some accomplishment or feat. 

Still, when in Rome… I wouldn’t do anything to violate their dearly held beliefs, nor the elves’. If Thranduil had given me this speech, I’d have been respectful. That did sober me up, and the giggles fled. 

“And that brings us to the next issue,” Bofur abruptly piped up. Again, no amusement there, and that told me in no uncertain terms how serious he was. It was too rare to see him without his habitual grin. 

“What issue?” I asked, exchanging short looks with Aleks. My twin splayed hands, clueless, too. 

“That would be the wee matter of the Battle of Five Armies, and your intention to save our king.”


	32. Proposals

### Chapter 31

Aleks and Bilbo exchanged short glances as Daphne deflated before Bofur’s unyielding stare. Aleks had seen Bofur in many situations, but it was rare to see him so resolute. He wasn’t angry, but the dwarf was looking very…uncompromising. A quick check revealed all of the dwarves as serious as a heart attack. 

How had they found out? Not that it mattered, but he put his money on the elf, Belegon. Daph _had_ left the book with him. Aleks had intended to bring it up, anyway, so he figured it was no big deal.

Daph, though, grumbled beneath her breath. Under Bofur’s unwavering regard, she crumbled like a house of cards. Massaging her temples, she opened her mouth to respond, her expression a bit like the kid who’d gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

Aleks nudged her and pressed a couple Oreos into her hand as he said, “To be fair, Bilbo and I didn’t say anything, either.”

Bilbo shot him a look that read, _Thanks for throwing me under the bus, too, bro._

Bofur reached over with a knowing look Aleks’s way, tilting Daph’s chin towards him as he said to Aleks, “I’ll be having some words with you about it as well, never fear.” Then to Daphne, “Do you not think we have a right to know, my lass?”

Aleks didn’t say anything, because the dwarf was correct. They had every right to know.

“Do ye not trust us as ye do the elves?” Gloin broke in, getting riled.

Daph grabbed Bofur’s hand, squeezing it and setting it down on her knee as she met Gloin stare-for-stare. “That is ridiculous.”

“They knew,” the dwarf accused, stabbing one finger at the elves.

“They had the book,” Aleks pointed out dryly. To his sister, “Give it up. It was an effort doomed to fail.”

“Thanks.”

“You know I’m right.”

She went to lift her hand but found it still clasped in Bofur’s. 

_Interesting._ Aleks was beginning to see a pattern here. Legit or coincidence, he wasn’t yet certain. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about it if it wasn’t coincidence. (Not that he really had the right to say anything one way or the other.) 

“Bofur,” she began, facing the toymaker. “Bifur. Guys. It isn’t that I don’t trust you.”

“Then what is it?” Gloin demanded.

“I was afraid if I told you, you’d get it into your heads to plant yourselves in front of Thorin like a living shield. I am not going to watch you guys get yourselves killed, exchanging one life for another. I get that he’s your king and you would lay down your lives to save him, but I want us all to survive this thing.”

A low grunt from Gloin. The dwarf crossed his thick arms before his chest. “What is the plan?” 

Daph shot Aleks a look of entreaty, so he jumped in again. “Actually, I’ll need your help with that.”

“You got it?” Daphne asked eagerly.

He grabbed the Ruger from his bag and lifted it. To the dwarves, “Look, you’ve seen me use this before. I know it didn’t look impressive on the trolls--”

“Trolls have tough skin, Master Aleks,” Gloin broke in. “I won’t be scoffing at what I witnessed.”

Aleks blinked. Well, that had been an easier sell than he’d expected. “My plan is to cover Thorin, Fíli and Kíli, but to do so, I need a tree cancer.”

Daph snickered at his terminology, making him realize what he’d said.

“I need a place I can situate without a hundred orcs spotting me. With this,” he lifted the Ruger, “I can cover a decent sized area, but not if I’m fighting for my life. I need a blind, something that lets me melt into the scenery so that I can focus on protecting them. I was hoping you guys would have some ideas since the battlefield will be right before Erebor.”

Bofur scratched his head. “Which would mean _telling_ us.”

Aleks smoothed a hand over the weapon, comforted by its familiar shape and solidity. “We didn’t have a plan until I spotted my stuff,” he admitted. “We tossed around some ideas, but no matter what we came up with, it placed someone in the line of fi— Er, in direct danger,” he clarified.

OoOoOo

What he didn’t mention was my insistence that we naiads were the only expendable ones. I hugged my knees, grimacing at the scratchy material of the robe I wore. How I’d ended up in one of Radagast’s spare robe was a mystery I was resolved not to delve into.

Aleks outlined his idea to the group and pretty soon, all the guys were contributing, even Bilbo.

OoOoOo

A soft whimper woke Aleks in the night, and he propped himself up on one elbow. Brethil sat guard near the cave’s entrance, his gaze passing Aleks’s as it returned to the world outside.

It didn’t take Aleks but a second longer to determine it was Daphne in a nightmare. She turned restlessly, her breaths rasping and fearful. Caranoran snapped from reverie on her other side, but before he could intervene, Daph’s hand fell across Bofur. That fast, she was squeezed up beside the toymaker. Bofur startled awake. He quickly gathered her close, murmuring reassurances. Daphne was sound asleep again in seconds.

Aleks mentally _hmm_ ed to himself. Something was definitely up. Aleks waited until Bofur noticed him. Did the dwarf even realize every elf in the cave had witnessed the tender scene, including the uber-protective Caranoran? _Like Bofur would care._ Aleks lifted his brows in question. 

Bofur tugged upon one earlobe and then tilted his head towards the cave entrance. 

With a nod, Aleks shoved his feet into his socks and boots and padded out of the cave into the warm night, the dwarf a few seconds behind. Aleks led Bofur away from the scene, wary of elvish ears. Only when he was satisfied did he stop.

For once, there was no glib joke, no grin of good humor. “I’ll be asking…” The dwarf halted as the elvish prince joined them. 

“This is a private conversation,” Aleks snapped, tired of the elf’s interference. 

“One I suspect of a delicate nature,” the elf said as if agreeing. Facing the moon, the elf clasped hands behind his back. “She is linked to living things, our Hwinneth. The trees. The flowers.” He half turned towards them. “She belongs with us, Master Bofur. I mean no insult. I merely state the fact.”

“She belongs with us,” Aleks burst. “With her family.”

The elf’s attention returned to the night sky. “She is like _Adar._ Her gifts are so near to our heart. I detested you, Aleks Hunt, for the harm you caused her. Yet, I begin to believe you changed from the satyr who did that deed. I believe you regret your actions. So I ask, do you believe she will thrive in Erebor? Living under a mountain, surrounded by cold metals she cannot handle, and deprived of the sunlight she needs to thrive?”

Aleks’s temper climbed, but at Bofur’s firm grasp, he subsided. 

The dwarf, however, did not. “Do ye truly believe she will find happiness among elves?” 

Caranoran again turned towards them, brows high. “Yes, of course.”

Bofur clucked his tongue, the sound one of mockery. “Which of your fine lads will wed our lass and provide her the bairns she is craving? Which one will link himself to a mortal, loving her as time leaves its stamp upon her body?”

Aleks almost missed it, the way the elf flinched. _Score, Bofur._

“Nay, none of you will wed our lass. You could not stand to bind yourselves to one whose life will span so brief a time when measured against your own.” The dwarf walked to Caranoran’s side, his own gaze upon the sky overhead. 

Caranoran looked at Bofur as if seeing him for the first time. Why the elf was surprised, Aleks didn’t know, but it was evident upon his face. “Would a dwarf? Could a dwarf cherish one so like unto an elf in her spirit?”

_Are you kidding?_ With the gender ratio three to one, if dwarves were anything like men, there’d be a line of them wishing to meet her. Aleks frowned. He had no say, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but wish that if Daphne ever wed, it would be one of the Company, though he’d have thought Kíli or Fíli the more likely candidates.

Until this night, anyway. To tell the truth, he felt blindsided. _Bofur._ He’d half a mind to shake his head and stick a finger in his ear to clear out his ear canal. Aleks sure hadn’t seen this coming. 

“Aye, they can and one does,” Bofur boldly declared. “And you best be believing, Prince Caranoran, that I’d not confine the lass to a mountain.”

“You would forsake Erebor?” Caranoran asked, his brows inching higher.

Bofur’s smile finally made an appearance, a cocky, satisfied bent to it. “Aye, if need be.”

“Dude, Bofur,” Aleks broke in. “You’re serious.”

The smile vanished and an intent look came his way. “Do you believe I’d be broaching the topic if I wasn’t?” Bofur asked with a slow shake of the head. “Nay, I am no child to be speaking words I do not mean in full.” He rocked back on his heels. “I intend to earn your blessing, Aleks.”

Caranoran laughed at the bald words, the sound more incredulous than mocking. “He’s not the one you’ll have to convince.”

“Aye. You speak of the Elvenking,” Bofur said with a nod, a smile teasing his lips.

“I am.”

A wider grin. “Can you not picture his face?” Bofur asked to Aleks in high humor, tugging on one earlobe. Back to the prince, “But, aye, I’ll be speaking with him as well.”

“Bofur, you can’t be serious,” Aleks said. “He’ll never agree.”

That gamine grin flashed again. _“Och,_ did you not know? The elf is known far and wide for his deep, abiding devotion to all dwarf-kind.” 

The irony in his voice pulled a short laugh from Aleks. _He’s really serious,_ Aleks thought with a shake of his head. Here he stood, the most incongruous looking dwarf of them all with his dopey hat and villainesque mustache, putting his cards on the table as if he was the finest of princes asking for the hand of a humble maid. No self-doubt, no hesitation.

Dude, Bofur was as fearless as Thorin. In a tongue-in-cheek, irreverent, goofball way. 

“You jest, but _Adar_ feels deeply protective of Lady Hwinneth,” Caranoran said. 

“He cares for the lass,” Bofur agreed. “And that is why he’ll not deny me.” No smile. No laugh. He was in deadly earnest. 

The sheer audacity of the statement rendered Aleks speechless. When he turned to Caranoran, he found the elf in the same state. For the first, and maybe only time, the two stared at each other in perfect accord. Bofur was nuts. Or in love. _Maybe it’s the same thing._

Either way, Aleks frowned down at his feet, thinking. He wanted Daph happy, and given what he’d seen this night, if there was a dwarf she would respond to, it would probably be Bofur. Time and again, she turned to him, though Aleks thought she saw him as a friend. His frown deepened. He’d hate it if Bofur was so firmly relegated to “friend” status that she turned him down. Oh, it was her prerogative, but he had a deep respect for the Three Bs. He didn’t want them hurt.

Yet looking again at Bofur, he wasn’t sure he would be. Hurt, that is. 

If Aleks was in his shoes, if he’d found the woman he wanted to share his life with, he hoped he would be as bold. The dwarves never ceased to amaze him with their stubborn determination. They decided something had to be done, they did it. No prevarication, no procrastination. No debilitating bouts of self-doubt or angst.

He just got his sister back, and here Aleks was, discussing her future. Daph would kick his butt for this, he suspected. Yet, this was Middle Earth, not America. Bofur was doing exactly what he deemed right by approaching him. 

His thoughts again returned to the situation. No matter his friendship with the Durin brothers, Kíli was way too young for Daph. The dwarf acted more like a seventeen-year-old in Aleks’s estimation. Fíli would have been a good option, but Daph had never shown a preference for him, nor had the dwarf shown the least bit interest other than assuring her safety as he would any other female under the dwarves’ protection. 

So. Bofur. 

Aleks looked at him, really looked at him. Such a silly appearance by human standards, yet…he loved kids. He was a _toymaker,_ for crying out loud. Bofur forever teased those around him, and Aleks had begun to notice Daph was much the same. Thinking back over the prank war between his twin and the elf prince, Aleks had to wonder how Daph and Bofur could be any more perfectly suited for one another. 

“If my opinion matters, you have my blessing,” he abruptly declared. 

Bofur dipped his head, rotating his shoulders and standing taller. “Aye, that is one.” He cocked a brow at the prince, and Aleks laughed.

“Twenty bucks says he wins you over,” Aleks said to the elf.

At that, both elf and dwarf gave him curious glances. “Is offering me a herd of bucks customary among naiads?” Caranoran broached in a cautious tone.

OoOoOo

Thorin paced along the paved walkway within the underground complex of the Elvenking’s Halls. The courtyard to his left rang with boisterous cheer as Fíli, Kíli, and the other dwarves engaged in mock combat. Sunlight wormed its way in through the domed ceiling overhead, painting the scene with a dimmed, golden hue.

Two weeks. No word had filtered back to them in this Aulë-forsaken place. Prince Legolas reported not one sighting of Azog or his son, nor the force that should have tracked Thorin’s Company here. 

_Yet another deviation from Mistress Daphne’s tomes._

He patted the pommel of an elvish training sword – he’d not yet located Orcrist – his brow furrowed. He did not fully trust the elves, but he had to admit they took as much care with their borders as he had at his Halls in Ered Luin. Doubtful, indeed, that the orcs had infiltrated their territory undetected. _Where are you?_ The obvious answer would be that Azog’s son and his orcs had left off pursuit of Thorin’s group to track the small party already burdened with an impossible mission. 

With every step he took, Thorin felt the weight of his decision pressing down like a lodestone. Bofur, Bifur, Bombur and Gloin had answered his call when so many had not. Their loyalty was something he’d determined to never take for granted, and the thought of losing them to an exercise in futility was a bitter draught to swallow. 

_Not futile._ Sooner or later, the Dark Lord would seek domination. The histories were clear on that point - Sauron did not share power. He conquered. There was no peace with him, no negotiations. If it cost dwarf lives to prevent him from coming into his full power, so be it. Thorin fully realized it might come down to leading his people into war very soon. 

“They’re good.”

At the intrusion, Thorin turned to find Prince Gellamon walking by his side. _Cursed elf silence._ One could rarely hear them approaching. “Did you expect less?” he asked shortly.

“No,” the elf responded, cooling Thorin’s offense before it could burn hot. “I have seen dwarves in battle. Your people are both strong and valiant.”

Thorin inclined his head. “Has there been word?” he asked, changing the subject. Though slightly mollified that this elf noted his Company’s value, he did not need an elf’s endorsement to know just how insufficient the descriptor, _good_ , was. 

“I have implemented your suggested improvements to our defenses,” Gellamon continued after shaking his head in the negative. “They were appreciated.”

Bolstering the defenses of an enemy. How it rankled. “You needn’t sound so surprised,” he growled.

The heir lifted one pale brow, his face untouched by anger or frustration. “You do take offense quite easily, Oakenshield.”

Thorin’s steps halted. “I have cause, elf.”

“A cause which is largely constructed upon a foundation of false beliefs and information. We have discussed this before. Believe my account or not as you wish, but we have a common goal. Should the Dark Lord rise, our peoples will need one other. Dark times approach, King Under the Mountain. Will you let bitterness isolate and weaken your kingdom?”

“And what of you?” Thorin returned in a harsh voice. “Well is it known that Thranduil has cut all but the most superficial ties with the world outside his forests.”

The heir pursed his lips. “Your accusation holds truth.” Green eyes slid sideways until they met his. “He resists the dark whispers,” the prince said in a low voice. “Yet he is not untouched. He grows suspicious. Paranoid, even. He has commanded me to return you to your prisons.”

Thorin stiffened.

“Fear not. By his own decree, I rule. You will not be imprisoned under my watch.” The elf fairly vibrated with tension. 

Against his will, Thorin felt a touch of sympathy. “This cannot be easy for you.”

The elf’s spine snapped straight. “I do as I must.”

“As do we all,” Thorin muttered.

Surprisingly, a small smile curled the elf’s lips. “Indeed.” The moment of levity vanished, and the prince continued, “It may become necessary to create the illusion of imprisonment.”

Thorin didn’t care for the sound of that. “You mean willingly return to those cages?” he asked, his voice again turning harsh.

“For a brief time each day, yes.” Gellamon pivoted upon the ball of one foot, facing him. “We dance upon a knife’s point, Oakenshield. My father is powerful, more than you know. I will not allow him to be provoked beyond his ability to control. Already, he entertains ideas of betrayal - that Hwinneth left him in his time of need, that dwarves undermine his authority in his own kingdom. Satisfy his suspicions, and he does not become enraged.”

“Rage is an entry point,” Thorin said.

“Yes, exactly that. It disturbs his control and gives our enemy one more inch of ground that _Adar_ can ill afford. He must hold. Thus far, his secrets remain his own, but if the enemy can convince him that Hwinneth or your dwarves are a threat, there is a chance those secrets might be revealed.”

_By Durin._ Thorin rubbed his jaw. “Will he strike out at my naiads upon their return?” 

“Your naiads?” the elf asked lightly.

“I will not argue this point with you again,” Thorin replied, maintaining a tight lid upon his temper. “Answer my question.” Fíli jogged over at no signal from Thorin and stationed himself opposite the elf, quiet and attentive. 

Prince Gellamon sighed and turned away. “I wish I knew for certain. _Ada_ as he was would never have entertained such fears and doubts about Hwinneth. Each time I approached him with my own reservations, he insisted he knew her inside and out. Yet now, the Dark Lord’s plague of suspicions begins to take root. Will he harm her? No, I do not believe so. He remains enough in control of himself to trust what he sensed before this invasion.”

“You expect her to heal him,” Thorin commented. 

A flicker in those eyes gave Thorin pause. The elf replied, “I do.”

Such cautious words. Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “You suspect it will be dangerous. To both? Or solely Mistress Hunt?”

Gellamon’s breath hissed from his lungs. “I do not know. It must be done. The Elvenking cannot be left as he is. I repeat, Oakenshield, he is more powerful than you know. If this were another elf and not my _adar,_ I would not take the risk, but Sauron cannot be given such a weapon as the Elvenking to use against us. These lands are about to face the greatest threat they have faced in an age. We will need my _adar.”_

“But not Mistress Hunt,” Thorin pressed, waiting to see how the elf would respond. 

Brilliant green eyes turned cold as chipped ice. “I wish no harm to come to her. I may not bear my father’s fondness for her, or my brothers’, but I am not unaware of my obligations. She is my foster-sister. I will do all I may to protect her. But when it comes down to it, she and I both are infinitely more expendable than _Adar._ And you would judge the same in similar circumstances.” 

The elf turned upon a heel and stalked off, throwing over his shoulder, “I shall keep you apprised. Be ready to act the furious prisoner when the time comes.”


	33. The Pits

### Chapter 32

“Tell me you’re joking, Legolas.” 

Daphne’s flat statement was punctuated by a mulish lowering of the chin, her expression matching Bombur’s so exactly at that moment that Aleks snorted to himself. The situation was not funny – not even remotely – but still. Bofur caught his eye and wagged one brow, laughter dancing in his eyes. He’d caught it, too.

Daph seriously belonged with these dwarves.

Caranoran stared down at his older, middle brother with arms folded across his chest and brow creased. The other elves kept their opinions private but watched the two princes and Daphne intently. 

“I regret to inform you, Hwinneth, that this is no joke. _Ada_ confined the dwarves to the dungeons. Gellamon is doing all he can to resolve the situation, but he has been placed under house arrest. Our father accuses him of treason. He does not remember placing the kingdom into Gellamon’s hands.”

That scrap of amusement died a quick death. Aleks’s forehead landed in his palm. It only needed this. For over a week, they’d fought their way through Mirkwood, evading random orc scouting parties that seemed to know just how close they could venture to the Elvenking’s Halls without detection. Each of them was filthy, tired, and most importantly, late. It was September the twenty-second, and the dwarves should have reached Lake-town this very afternoon. 

Legolas tugged on one hank of Daphne’s matted hair with a sympathetic grimace, then startled to find himself with charcoal smudged fingers. That Daph’s makeshift hair coloring had held this long was a miracle, but given the way Sauron hunted her, they’d all figured some effort at a disguise was a good idea in case they got captured. 

Not that charcoal- and mud-smeared hair was much of a disguise, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“I will take you to _Ada,”_ Legolas said after rubbing thumb and forefinger together with a perplexed expression. “As soon as he is healed…”

His words must have trickled off due to the dismayed expression Daph adopted at his words. She sagged upon Caranoran’s crooked arm, her cheek against the elf’s grime-covered sleeve. 

_“Gwanur,”_ Caranoran said somberly, “there were complications.”

Legolas’s blue eyes seemed to ignite as his gaze darted between his – and here Aleks reluctantly used the term – siblings. “You are well?” he asked Daphne, his brow creasing in concern. 

She flapped a noncommittal hand. 

Caranoran opted to ditch the polite platitudes. “Her gift is gone.”

Legolas straightened, his eyes widening. “Gone?”

Daphne fidgeted with the folds of her tunic sleeves, not making eye contact with anyone. She blamed herself. 

Aleks didn’t know if anyone but himself and Caranoran noticed the way Bofur insinuated himself by her side and twined his fingers through hers the instant she grew agitated. He’d been doing that more and more, winding himself into the fabric of her life with no fuss or demands. Whether she was cognizant of it or not, she lit up whenever Bofur neared. Even with the serious matter now before them, a smile brightened her visage the instant Bofur’s hand claimed hers, and her tension level dropped noticeably. 

Aleks hid a smirk. He was totally enjoying watching Bofur work, mentally taking notes. 

Legolas’s eyes began to home in on their conjoined hands. Quickly wiping his expression clean, Aleks interjected, “It might be temporary,” drawing attention off of the two for a moment. “She exerted herself to save a number of our Company and ended up trapped as a tree.”

Legolas stared at Aleks, then Daphne, and finally his brother. “This will not end well, I fear.” Addressing the entire party, he revealed, “The Elvenking remains enough in control not to yield secrets to the enemy, but the unending assault has affected him. He grows ever more suspicious, ruled by paranoia and anger.”

“He had to have succumbed at least in part to accuse Gellamon,” Caranoran murmured.

Legolas inclined his head. “Indeed. Gellamon ordered me on permanent patrol for the time being to keep me out of harm’s way.”

“Harm’s way,” Caranoran said, pinching the top of his nose. “Could it grow worse?” he asked in a tone that made it clear he expected no answer. Dropping his hands, he demanded in a suddenly fearful voice, “Legolas, _Naneth?”_

“She is well and safe. Even that one cannot sway _Ada_ where _Naneth_ is concerned.” At Legolas’s words, Caranoran relaxed. 

The two began to speak in a spate of… What did Daph call it? Sinaran? Sindirin? Bah. _Elvish,_ he labeled it. Aleks inched his way back towards his horse, careful to make no sudden moves. Nothing to draw attention. _Slow and easy gets it done, Hunt. Slow and easy._ He reached his horse, relieved to find it still standing between Bifur and Bilbo. 

Patting the horse’s neck, he murmured, “Now would be a good time to pull a vanishing act, Bilbo. Thorin and the others may need rescuing in truth.” The words were barely uttered before the hobbit winked out of existence even to Aleks’s satyr vision. Blinking, Aleks whistled a soundless tune under his breath. _“Vaya con Dios, mi amigo.”_

Bifur’s brow twitched, but he asked no questions. 

“I think we’re going to end up in cages again,” Aleks told the dwarf. 

Gloin, seated behind Bifur, grumbled under his breath. Aleks couldn’t make out much of it, but he swore he heard the word _coward_ in the mix. 

A disturbance arose back where Caranoran and Legolas held council. “We are late already,” Caranoran protested, his hands open in supplication. _“Gwanur,_ we must free the dwarves--”

Legolas’s slashing look halted Caranoran’s words in their tracks. “Say no more.” To the guards behind him, he said, “He is exhausted and not in his right mind. Arasiel, Hadhion, please escort my brother to his quarters that he might refresh himself.” 

Two elves, a male and female, stepped forward with precise, exact movements that screamed military to Aleks. _Here we go._ The two bracketed Caranoran, who leveled a very serious look at his older, shorter brother. 

Legolas dipped his head a fraction in response, his gaze dropping to Daphne before rising back to his brother. 

“Very well.” Younger brother bowed to the elder and retrieved his horse under the guards’ watchful eyes. Mere seconds later, they disappeared, heading towards the Elvenking’s Halls, the walls of which were visible from their position. 

Legolas exhaled and faced the rest of them. Frowned. “Where is the hobbit?”

OoOoOo

The Company went silent as their companions were escorted back into the dungeons. Thorin inspected each as they came into view at the base of the rough, narrow stairwell.

Gloin arrived first, the dwarf bristling with outrage and full of insults for the elves unfortunate enough to be assigned this duty. The elves who had objected to the treatment of the heir, and to a lesser extent the dwarves, had been released from duty, leaving only those with a particular fanatical devotion to Thranduil or an ax to grind upon the dwarves as guards. 

Thorin’s own rage had burned itself out days ago. Gellamon’s ploy to placate the deranged Elvenking had failed. Thorin trusted no elf, now more than ever, as suspicions turned elf against elf. He spoke not a word to any of them, refusing any demands put to him, though those were few. 

Next came Bombur, who strode towards the cell indicated with silent dignity. Then Bifur, muttering nonsense in Khuzdul, the sly look in his eye telling Thorin it was purposeful. Let any elf who might know Khuzdul, unlikely as that might be, think him deranged. If any purchased his bit of goods, they’d underestimate him. 

Bofur sauntered in with a saucy grin and a wink for him. “Eh, been keeping the place clean for us, laddies?” An elf shoved him from behind. “No need for rudeness.” A sorrowful clucking sound. “Elvish hospitality. We must be taking notes on this, lads, for when we host them in turn. We’d not want to insult them by failing to remember their preferences in the future.” 

Fíli met Thorin’s eyes and snorted, a small smile growing upon his lips. Thorin was grateful to see it. Truth be told, they’d all lost a bit of heart with no word of their friends’ fates. To see them, even bandaged as they were, lifted his spirits, too.

The five were locked away without another word spoken by either side. Thorin lifted an arm through the bars of his cage, a wordless command to maintain silence. After a handful of minutes, Aleks confirmed they were alone. 

Thorin dropped his hand. “Where is Master Baggins?”

“Slipped away, he did, whilst no one was looking, see?” Bofur said with a smirk. “Though I believe we neglected to mention that to our hosts.”

“They got the strangest impression he died back in the Misty Mountains,” Aleks told him with his own wolfish grin. He scratched his beard. “I do wonder where they got that from.”

Gloin chuckled and said, “Ye did well, Master Aleks. Very well, indeed.”

Aleks waved off the praise and leaned elbows upon the support bars to his cage door. “It wouldn’t have worked if Belegon and Brethil hadn’t backed us up. I think Legolas knew I was lying, but he let it pass. Thorin, I’m sorry, man.”

“For what are you apologizing, Aleks?” Thorin asked, wondering if the lad’s temper had once more caused them difficulty. 

Their satyr exhaled through pursed lips. “Things didn’t go as smoothly as we’d hoped they would.”

The oblique, alarming statement did little to clarify things. “Master Gloin, report,” Thorin said, impatient for answers. “The mission was successful?”

“Aye, that it was, Thorin, that it was.” The red-headed dwarf leaned against the door to his cell. “The item was retrieved and is safely in Master Baggins’ care.”

“Injuries?”

“Aye,” Gloin said with a bob of the head. “Nothing serious. The lass patched up the worst of it before we set course back into Mirkwood.” 

Thorin let his head hang for a moment, savoring this bit of good news. He had his suspicions about the nature of the object his companions had gone to retrieve. He’d had weeks to ponder it. If his suspicions were true… Perhaps the war with Sauron did not need to occur just yet. Thorin would take any delay and be glad of it, for each day would allow his dwarves to strengthen their positions and defenses. 

_If we can win free of this place._ Bilbo might be able to affect their release. According to Mistress Hunt’s stories, that had been the original course of things. Lifting his head, he told Gloin, “Tell us everything. Leave nothing out.”

Thorin seated himself with his back to the side wall, his shoulder to the iron bars of the cell door. Leaning his head back against the rock behind him, he closed his eyes and listened.

OoOoOo

I was taken to my _gwathadar_ with Captain Badhron and Belegon acting escort. I felt oddly bereft without the dwarves and Aleks. If not for Belegon’s presence, I would have been completely unnerved.

 _They’ll be fine,_ I assured myself for the umpteenth time. It did little to assuage the lonely, fretful thoughts centering around my guys. 

They were probably safer than I was about to be, a part of me pointed out. What had Sauron done to my _gwathadar?_ From the little Legolas had said, a knot of guilt and fear had formed in the pit of my belly. I’d feigned nonchalance when parting from the dwarves and Aleks, but the truth was, I was scared. Oh, not of physical harm – this was _Gwathadar_ – but what had Sauron’s lies and deceit done to the elf I’d come to know and love? 

Like a bean on the hotplate, my anxiety sought another outlet, bouncing around to a new subject. _Aleks?_ It was a lost cause, trying to contact him, yet I found myself poking at the gaping wound of the lost part of me like a child picking at a scab. My mind felt unbalanced, half-blind and unable to accept I’d never hear a tree’s gentle whisper again. A week had passed, and I was no closer to truly accepting it.

Our steps carried us to the Elvenking’s private study. Both _ellyn_ crossed the threshold with me and assumed positions on either side of the door, leaving me standing alone in the center of the study.

Thranduil didn’t look up. His pale hair spilled over his shoulders as he dipped quill into ink pot and scratched words upon a piece of parchment. He looked good. Sane. _Normal._ I wasn’t sure what I’d been dreading, but this was not it. It was unlike him not to greet me, but with the Dark Lord playing with his mind, this was better than I’d hoped. The butterflies in my stomach decided they could leave and fluttered off to wherever nervous bugs went. 

The silence stretched beyond the comfortable. Legolas’s words ringing through my mind, I decided some prudence might not be a bad idea. I dropped to my knees, head bowed, and waited. 

The rasp of quill on paper continued for some time before the soft clatter on the desk told me he’d set the quill aside. I stared at the floor beneath me, the hard stone covered by a thick carpet in his signature green and gold. 

The chair scraped back and richly booted feet appeared in my sight. “Lady Hwinneth,” Thranduil said with cool formality. “You left my Halls without leave.”

_Paranoid,_ I could hear Legolas say again. I licked my lips. “Yes, sire.” 

This time, the Elvenking did not correct me. There was no reminder that he was foster father. A tingle of fear raced down my spine like an icy raindrop. _Please, Gwathadar. Please._

What I begged for, I could not easily contain in words. Acceptance. Love. Home. It was each of those things and a whole universe more. When my world had crumbled, he’d been there to provide a new foundation upon which to build. A safe one. It terrified me to think of that strong, mighty spirit twisted and abused. 

“My son seeks to supplant me,” he said with a little pause. “Enemies plot from all around. Tell me, Lady Hwinneth, where you stand.”

_Gellamon loves you, Gwathadar._ Words he wouldn’t hear if Legolas’s warning was true. My tongue touched my upper lip. “I trust you.”

“That is not what I asked,” he said, his voice turning into a menacing croon. “Rise. Face me.”

I climbed to my feet with no grace. Standing at attention, my eyes found his and became ensnared by them. Thranduil was powerful. His survival for so many centuries as king was testament to his force of will. That his people yet thrived in the nightmare Mirkwood had become echoed it. I’d known he was not just doting father, but for the first time I realized just how dangerous Thranduil was. 

_It isn’t him,_ I told the little-girl feeling of _don’t hurt me_ beginning to form in my gut. Thranduil was flawed, yes. I’d known that before. But he was good. If Sauron had done something to him, I vowed to remember it was not my _gwathadar_ doing it. Not of his own volition. Gellamon’s plight, Thorin and the Company’s, all were courtesy of the Dark Lord. 

_Don’t forget it,_ I warned myself as I was subjected to a cold inspection. 

“The voice taunts me, Lady. What do you intend to do about it? Are you my loyal foster daughter? My _fileg?_ Or was it deception and lies? Deceit to undermine and betray me?”

Oh. No. 

Belegon’s swift inhale told me I was not alone as my heart sank somewhere around ankle level. I dared not look at the guard. How could I possibly explain…? How could I not try? I wet my lips and spoke. “Sire. I injured myself.”

His eyelids dropped a fraction, and his lips compressed. “Indeed?”

How to make him believe? 

“It is true, my liege.” Belegon materialized beside me on one knee, his head bowed, showcasing a single braid littered with twigs and leaves. Our return to the Elvenking’s Halls had not been an easy one.

What his captain thought of his interruption, I couldn’t begin to say, for the guy was absolutely silent. Thranduil, however, was not so ambiguous. The Elvenking stalked closer and bent over the ellon. “I do not remember asking your opinion, Guard Belegon.”

That tone would have shut me up. It said a lot that Belegon didn’t turn into a puddle of simpering apologies. His head did inch downward further. “No, sire,” he said.

Thranduil’s gaze slashed to me, the impact enough to weaken my knees. “Explain.”

“I delved too deeply into my dryad side, sire. I became trapped as a…uh…tree.” Internal wince. If I were him, I wouldn’t buy it.

A scoffing sound. A ridiculing laugh. “I am no child to believe such a tale.” He appeared right next to me, his face close enough to brush noses if I but tilted my head. My heart gave a nervous thump, ready to mutiny with my knees. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” he crooned. 

_Um, no?_

“Will you silence the voice?” he said, his voice gaining teeth and a growl. “Will you come to my aid as I did yours?”

_“Gwathadar,”_ I beseeched, too late realizing my folly. If he believed me a manipulator, bringing up our ties would only make it seem more so.

“Do not dare, naiad,” he snarled. “You who leave me to battle this enemy alone.” Then in a coo, “Do you know he asks of you?” One hand rose to toy with a lock of my hair, seemingly unaware of the way it left charcoal smudges upon his fingertips. “Shall I tell him? Share what I know?” Whatever he saw in my face pleased him.

Spots began to dance before my eyes. _It isn’t him._ But if he told Sauron that I knew the future, I was dead. They might as well dig the grave now because it would be a foregone conclusion. 

Long fingers teased down my face and arm to my hand and wrapped around it, the flesh cool and pale, clean next to mine. He tugged me after him. Out of the study, we went, and down hall after hall until we broke out into the sunshine, the two Royal Guards remaining two paces behind. My gaze encountered Belegon’s a handful of times. This was _so_ not good. 

Thranduil’s strides never accelerated nor slowed. Always poised, the Elvenking, his entire posture screaming dignity. He pulled me right up to a healthy elm and placed my palms to its trunk, his hands on top of mine. 

I felt nothing of the tree. Two tears leaked down my cheeks as my thumb smoothed across its bark. My whispers to it failed to garner any response that I could hear. 

Thranduil frowned from the tree to me and back again. He shoved free, whirling with chest heaving, fury etched upon his face. From the poised king, he turned suddenly crazed. “You think to fool me?” he hissed. A thought must have crossed his mind, for his eyes narrowed, and he prowled closer to cup my jaw in a punishing grip. “You are in league with Oakenshield,” he said, and I thought the words directed inward, for his eyes no longer met mine. “Cannot put her with them. It is what she wants.” 

He returned to the present, razor sharp blue eyes slashing towards his Royal Guards. “Throw her into the pit.” Eyeing me, he began to smirk. “Toss in the other naiad as well. His presence will ensure her stay there is more…enjoyable.” Sly, terrifying satisfaction. To me: “You will change your mind, traitor-child. And you will stay down there until you do.”

Thus it was I ended up in, well, the pit. That the elves tolerated such a place to exist appalled me. Why would the king I knew resort to such a thing? Elrond sure wouldn’t! The pit was nothing more than a hole, a natural well really, into which prisoners could be lowered using ropes, or maybe chucked in if you weren’t all that concerned if the person in question survived. Some fluke of geology and topography ensured a steady stream of water trickled down the slick rock walls. The resulting pool of water trapped down there was freezing cold and high enough that it lapped at my chin with my every move.

Elves were impervious to the cold. A place like this would be uncomfortable but not dangerous. Did Thranduil remember that wouldn’t hold true for me? 

Tilting my head back, I could barely make out Belegon’s shadowed outline. The elf was rigid, his body language screaming disbelief in the soft lantern light above. Legolas had tried to warn us. Thranduil was not himself. I kept repeating that to myself, that it was not _Gwathadar._ He was under the influence of something much worse than an illegal drug. 

It still hurt. Oh, how it hurt. He wasn’t rejecting me. It was Sauron, blast it all. Yet to have Thranduil look at me like that? Too reminiscent of Aleks’s sudden defection long ago. This was different. I knew it was different, but a part of me just cried and cried to see it. 

I’d have given anything for a glimpse of Bofur’s cheerful face right then. 

_Aleks?_ Still nothing

Worse, this might be Sauron’s doing, but what if I never healed? Would Thranduil be stuck like this for the next sixty-odd years? What would that do to Legolas? Or Gellamon and Caranoran? 

There was zero opportunity for a private word so I didn’t even get the chance to beg Belegon to see Thorin and the Company freed. He knew what was at stake. Gellamon, too, most likely. 

I stared up from the pitch black, freezing hole I’d been lowered into and feared for us all as I shivered in the icy water.

OoOoOo

Aleks made his presence known long before I saw him. “Don’t touch me, elf,” he snapped. “Great king you have. Imprisons his own son, turns on his allies. You must be so proud.”

Trust Aleks to vent his spleen even in these dangerous conditions. He kept up in much the same vein, his voice growing louder as he neared. Then he was here, yanked by the arm into dim view in the lantern light at the top of the pit. Anyone else wouldn’t be able to see me, but with his satyr’s sight… 

“Holy— _Belegon!”_ he roared, whirling on the guard. “What the heck?”

“What does it look like, Aleks?” I called up to him, huddling in upon myself with teeth chattering. “S-stupid question.” I tried to smile up at him, unashamedly relieved to see his face. Call me a wimp, but I didn’t want to go through this alone. 

“Down,” Captain Badhron commanded. I couldn’t see him from my vantage point, but I sure recognized the jerk’s voice. 

Aleks tensed, but Belegon intervened. “Master Hunt,” he said in a warning voice. “Aleks. Please, don’t fight.” 

What passed between them, I didn’t see, but Aleks joined me, lowered by a rope that was then retracted. He hissed as he entered the frigid water, but he quickly moved to my side, the water only reaching his chest. “I’ll kill him,” he growled with a hard look upwards. 

Around chattering teeth, I said, “Don’t. Not his fault. He’s as trapped as we are.” 

“That’s bull.” He chafed my arms. “What happened?”

“I couldn’t heal Thranduil.”

Aleks grumbled and shook his head. “Thought it might be something like that.”

“Thorin?”

“Safe for now, but they were supposed to be gone already.”

“I know.” Most of the light illuminating the cavern above us drifted away. Guards were leaving, I supposed. It wasn’t as if Aleks and I were getting out of here anytime soon. “Did the orcs attack?”

“Nope. No sign of them,” Aleks said.

Great. I rubbed my forehead. Then, tired of the continual, fierce itching of my scalp, I leaned back and began to rinse the gunk out.

“Daph?” A bit of humor entered his voice.

“Don’t say it,” I chattered. “It itches like crazy. I’m freezing anyway. I might as well be clean, too.”

“Or dye the water so we’ll both be a nice shade of gray when we get out of here.”

“If we get out of here,” I mumbled.

“Pessimist.”

“Realist.”

Aleks nudged me with his arm. “Don’t count Thorin out yet. Nor,” he stressed, “the rest of the Company.” 

Like, say, a hobbit.


	34. A Singalong and a Barrel Ride

### Chapter 33

“Keep going.” 

She was trembling so hard now that her wet, pant-clad knees knocked into his head. Aleks rotated his shoulders, nearly unseating her as he eased the strain of her weight. He stamped his hooves, trying to save his own limbs from the icy water, too. Daph had started to turn blue, her energy flat-lining so dangerously that he’d seated her upon his shoulders to stop more of her body heat from being leeched into the water. 

She was just too small. 

And his hooves felt like blasted ice cubes.

“It’s too c-c-cold, Al-leks.”

“Tough.” This was crap. He kept his demeanor calm and light, but inside, he was so all-fired ticked that the water should have boiled off hours ago. How dare that king toss them down here? It reconfirmed his impressions of before. Caranoran might care for Daph, but the Elvenking was no one’s friend. Daph had been snookered by a pro that’d had thousands of years to perfect his glib tongue. The dude was a conman. He just happened to also wear a crown. 

Thorin sure wouldn’t treat people this way, even if they had roused his ire. A small voice pointed out Thorin’s unfair treatment of Bilbo, but he shoved it aside. He was in no mood to be “fair” or “unbiased” in his ire. 

“Keep singing. That way I know you’re still awake,” he said.

“L-like anyon-n-ne could s-sleep.”

He chafed her legs and willed more energy into his twin. Jostling her with a gentle shake, he cleared his throat expectantly. 

“Y-you’re just bored,” she accused.

“So?” 

She huffed a laugh. “W-what did you w-want to hear?”

_Keep it light._ Keep them both from flipping out. “I don’t suppose you know any good Metallica songs?”

She snorted, her hands resting upon the crown of his head behind his antlers. _“Are_ there any-y?”

“What?”

“Good Metallic-ca songs,” she drawled.

“Cute.”

“I try.”

He almost used the rejoinder, “Yes, you are trying,” but something in him counseled to leave that unvoiced. Who knew how battered she might feel from the Elvenking’s actions? Instead, he said, “C’mon, Daph, you have to know _some_ good songs. You know, not the gushy chick stuff.”

“I _am-m_ a ch-chick, Aleks.”

“C’mon,” he cajoled. “You must remember something.”

“I d-don’t consider scream-ming singing,” she replied. “Why don’t you s-s-sing to me?”

“Yeah, if you want to make your eardrums bleed,” he snorted. 

They fell silent, then Daphne broached, “D-do you r-remember that s-song _Appa_ used to sing?”

Did he ever. As if they’d choreographed it, the two of them burst into song. Aleks was fully cognizant of just how awful his voice was, but he ignored his embarrassment. Memories, old and forgotten, flooded his mind. While their _Amma_ had loved 80s music, their _Appa_ had had this thing for the 40s and 50s. His absolute favorite had been _Swing on a Star,_ the very song Aleks and Daph attempted to do justice to. _Appa _had sung them to sleep with it, hummed it when working in his workshop, and taught them to play panpipes with it.__

Panpipes. They were integral to naiad culture, yet Aleks hadn’t thought of them in over half a decade. His set had burned with their house the night of his parents’ murder. Marcus had been in such a hurry to hide any evidence of his and Daphne’s survival that the werewolf had razed it to the ground. Nancy had only saved a few changes of clothes for each of them, their mother’s precious pouch of seeds, and their father’s pocket watch. Everything else, gone. Poof. 

In hindsight, he regretted not seeking out a teacher. He was a satyr and should be proud of his heritage. He should know the panpipes _and_ the dances. 

Perhaps Bofur and Bifur might be able to help him recreate the pipes. The two were skilled craftsmen. And, he thought dryly, Bofur would probably love giving Daph a part of her heritage back to her. Aleks made a mental note to bring it up as soon as they were free. 

If they managed to survive this. 

OoOoOo

Bofur stepped aside and nudged Bombur to do the same, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Now is not the time to be dreaming of Mib’s fine cooking,” he teased. “Or any of her other fine attributes.”

His rotund brother smirked. “It is always a good time to think of Mib.” His brother’s face looked like the cat with a mouthful of canary. 

“This way,” Bilbo whispered as Nori and Gloin carted off the latest of the elves their burglar had knocked out. That spray the lass had cooked up was mighty fearsome stuff, Bofur thought. One spritz and a man was down. 

_Best be remembering not to rile the lass, my lad._ Bofur grinned, watching the elf’s booted feet disappear around a corner, three feet off the ground. Daphne might be a gentle sort, but she did have a bite to her. Sure to keep a dwarf on his toes, it was. 

Bofur flexed his fingers, ready to be moving. He’d not liked being parted from her side, and he was antsy to clap eyes upon her once again. Entrusting her to the elves after their last failure to guard her had not set well with him. 

“How much further?” Thorin asked in an impatient undertone. 

_Aye, time to leave this place._ They’d already overstayed their welcome. Though how that could be when they’d not even had a chance at the ale was hard for a dwarf to comprehend, Bofur chortled to himself. 

“Not far,” Bilbo assured, rocking on his bare feet. “It’s the room Mistress Hunt’s book speaks about. Perfect for escape, really.” 

Thorin instantly whistled them to a halt, and Bofur shot his cousin a look. Bifur’s calm steadied him. When his cousin gave him a wee nod, he was able to signal an aye back. A strange turn of events, to be sure, in which it was Bofur looking for reassurance from his kin instead of the other way around. 

“The elves will know,” Fíli objected in a low voice, coming to stand by his uncle’s side. 

Aye, that was a worry. Could even their companions of just that morn be trusted if their loyalties were put to such a test? They could not expect the elves to choose reluctant allies above their king. 

Bilbo straightened to his full height. _He’s come a long way, he has._ Instead of shying away from disagreement, the hobbit acted more like a dwarf, ready to say his piece. “Two of them have aided us,” said their burglar. “Prince Caranoran and the Royal Guard Belegon. They traveled with us, Thorin. We know them.” 

“They’ll betray us,” Kíli insisted in a hiss. 

“You revealed yourself to them?” their king asked in an ominous rumble. 

An overreaction, perhaps, but a sentiment Bofur could well understand. _Bilbo, my lad, I’m not sure even those two are to be trusted in this._ Bofur didn’t utter the words. What sense, to speak them? The deed was done. Dressing down their hobbit for doing his best to get them out of this place seemed nonsensical. 

Not, Bofur thought ironically, that it would stop Thorin. Hot-tempered, those of Durin’s line. Rather a source of dwarfish pride, really. 

“No, most certainly not,” Bilbo said with hands to his lapels. “They must suspect I am underfoot, given what they know. No, Thorin, I have not allowed myself to be seen by any but you. The elves took it upon themselves to gather our gear and store it in our mode of transport. They spoke as if I was there all the while.” 

“Has he secured us horses?” Ori asked his brother in surprise. 

“Hor--? No, not horses,” Bilbo corrected. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Exiting through that main gate would lead to certain recapture.” Back to Thorin, “Caranoran and Belegon also retrieved our weapons, and Aleks’s and Daphne’s bags.” The hobbit tapped the hilt of his wee sword, Sting, in demonstration. 

_They mean the lass to travel with us,_ Bofur thought, and saw a similar thought cross Thorin’s mind as the king turned to him with a significant look. Such an action implied the lass was no longer sheltered by the Elvenking’s favor. 

“No help for it,” Balin said from beside their king. “It is done. We play this hand and hope for the best.” 

Thorin grunted. “Lead on, Master Baggins. Should this escape attempt prove unsuccessful, we will at least go down with weapons in our hands.” 

“We won’t fail,” Fíli said with unusual determination. “We cannot. Too much rides upon our success, Uncle.” 

Thorin clapped his heir on the shoulder. 

Bilbo again took the lead, disappearing on them all with the use of the Ring. The rest of them halted at the next turn as Bilbo rendered guards unconscious. Bare seconds later, he reappeared, and the lot of them collected the felled guards, carting them to their dungeon and locking them inside. 

“At this rate, we’ll have half the elves of Mirkwood trapped in that dungeon,” Nori grumbled. “Do these elves have nothing better to do than to guard these passageways?” 

“It could be worse,” Bofur commented. “We could be surrounded by hordes of elvish women taken with young Kíli’s flirtatious ways. Aye, they could be trailing after us, scores of them, each pining for one o’ his sweet smiles.” 

Muted snickers broke the tension. Kíli scowled at him. 

“He does seem to have acquired a taste for elvish lasses, hasn’t he?” Fíli said with a wolfish grin. 

“I have not,” Kíli objected. 

“You forget, it was the elf _lord_ he fancied in Rivendell,” Bombur pointed out with mock sorrow. 

The youngest Durin flushed a bright red as they all stifled their guffaws, some with less success than others. 

The Company reached Bilbo’s destination with little difficulty. When they filed into the room, Bofur heard a number of startled exclamations and objections. He’d half a mind to shush them to silence as he trailed at the end of the line, his attention fixed upon the halls around them, alert for any sign of discovery. At last, he too backed into the room, closing and latching the door behind him. Turning around, he found himself in a cellar. Barrels and casks lined the walls from floor to ceiling - in other circumstances, an opportunity nary a dwarf would let pass without sampling the till. 

“Did we take a wrong turn?” he asked with a smile that faded as he noted the grumpy faces around him. “What did I miss, lads?” 

“We’re supposed to climb into these things,” Kíli said with a kick at the offending set of barrels, “and float to freedom.” 

“Cowardly,” Gloin grumbled. 

Dori fretted beside his younger brother, “Dangerous. We’ll drown.” 

“Silence.” 

At Thorin’s command, not a dwarf dared to continue venting his spleen. Nor, as Bofur’s lips burned to do, to voice the question sitting upon his tongue like a hot coal: _Where are our naiads?_ Fool that he was, he’d assumed the two would be reunited with them at their destination, yet the twins were nowhere in sight. 

“This is the best option?” Thorin asked Bilbo. 

The hobbit displayed empty palms. “It is the only option, Thorin.” 

Thorin took only a dwarf’s strike of the hammer to decree, “Get into the barrels.” 

Bofur hesitated when he reached Thorin’s side. Before he could voice his concerns, Thorin asked Bilbo in an undertone, “Where are the twins, Master Baggins? Tell me they are on their way.” 

Bilbo shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I planned to retrieve them next.” He took a step across the room to the wall. “This lever releases the trapdoor in the floor, allowing the barrels to roll down into the river. Should anyone discover you while I’m gone, pull it. I shall endeavor to catch up with you as soon as I’m able. _With_ our friends.” 

“What has the Elvenking done to them?” Bofur asked, a cold fist tightening around his gut and squeezing tight. 

“They are well?” Thorin asked. 

Bilbo gave Bofur a sympathetic look – was Bofur’s affection for the lass really so obvious? – before facing Thorin. “The last time I checked, they were well. I could hear Mistress Daphne singing. They will be cold. Having some blankets ready for them might not be a bad idea.” 

“Thorin, I’ll be going with Bilbo,” Bofur said. 

Thorin stared at him for a stretch of time before answering, “The wisest course would be for us to remain here and await Master Baggins’ return with our missing naiads.” His hand flew up before Bofur could do more than formulate an objection. “Erebor awaits. We cannot risk losing this opportunity. And yet,” sympathy entered his king’s voice, “they are our friends, loyal to a fault. Very well. Go.” 

Thorin turned to the side and found Bifur right behind him. “You as well. No, Bombur, do not ask. This time you stay.” A last long look came Bofur’s way. “Retrieve them with all haste. Our good fortune will not hold forever.” 

Bilbo cleared his throat. “We’ll need some rope.” 

OoOoOo

“That is the single worst song I have ever heard.”

Aleks’s gripe roused me from the cusp of slumber. It was getting harder to stay awake. My body felt leaden and oddly impervious to the cold. I’d stopped shaking. A part of me clanged in alarm at that telltale sign, but the rest of me was too sleepy to care. 

“Daph?” 

“Mhm?” I forced my eyelids to crack open. My eyeballs felt dry and itchy. “Not a bad song.” 

“I can’t feel my legs.” 

His blurted comment didn’t surprise me. We’d been in this wet tomb for at least half a day as best I could figure. Our bodies were not designed to survive in such conditions. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. 

He took a deep breath. “Not your fault.” 

“I’m still sorry.” 

Aleks laughed tiredly. “At least if we die down here, I won’t have to hear that song again.” 

What song had I been singing? “I don’t remember what it was.” 

_Keep singing._ Why, I wasn’t certain except that it was what I’d been doing, and it seemed absolutely imperative to keep on doing what I’d been doing. Keep breathing. Keep thinking. Keep staying awake. 

With a quirk of the lips, I thought of the captive audience we had guarding us just a handful of meters above. A huge inhale, then in shrill falsetto, I broke into a new song: _Walk Like a Man._

Aleks began to laugh. 

OoOoOo

Bofur winced. By Durin, what was that? They rounded another corner and the sharp sound intensified.

_Aye, and that would be Aleks and my Daphne,_ he realized as an off-key masculine voice joined in. Bofur felt a grin spread upon his lips along with a heaping dose of relief. ‘twas their naiads, all right. Both of their voices rose to an ear-piercing pitch as they howled. 

Bifur snorted and nudged him. In Khuzdul, “If that be how they sing, I’m pitying Erebor. I know you had it in your head to get drawing lessons for the lassie, but I’m thinking singing lessons are more in order.” The twins’ elven guards must have agreed, for the two wore expressions painful to behold. 

The howls ceased, replaced by actual words. A relief, to be sure, that they did not simply howl songs exclusively. Bofur rubbed his ear, wondering if his hearing would ever be the same. 

Bofur and Bifur waited just a hair out of sight as Bilbo donned his ring, the bottle grasped in his hands. Bifur had his boar spear at the ready, and Bofur the rope. The hobbit felled the brunette guard first, then when the other reacted, sprayed her as well. They collapsed onto the floor in quite a satisfactory manner to Bofur’s mind. 

His low-burning ire turned deadly when he got his first glimpse of the twins’ condition. They were blue in the face, the both of them. Aleks had the lass sitting upon his shoulders out of the water, a fact Bofur would not be forgetting anytime soon. He owed the lad. 

It was Aleks who looked up and spotted them. He stopped singing, and the lass’s voice trailed off. She looked down upon her brother with blind eyes. Bofur didn’t believe she could have seen her hand had she waved it under her nose. 

“We’re saved,” Aleks said, touching her knee. 

She startled. “Wha--?” 

“We’ll need help,” Aleks called up to them. “I can’t feel my legs any longer, and I’m pretty sure Daph’s in the same condition.” 

“Who?” she asked. She looked pitiful there, arms loosely hugging her belly and her body pale as white marble. Bofur removed his coat. She’d be needing its warmth as soon as they had her out of there. 

“I’ll lower you down,” Bifur said in Khuzdul. “Best be quick about it.” 

Bofur accepted one end of the rope and knotted it around his waist. His last sight as he backed into the shaft was of the fallen elves. Tempting, it was, to pitch them into this pit to replace the two they’d knowingly endangered. 

Or perhaps the Elvenking, if the opportunity ever arose. 

He whistled a jaunty tune the entire way down. He didn’t feel the least bit lighthearted, but their poor companions needed the reassurance his false cheer would afford.

OoOoOo

Whistling.

_Bofur._ No need now to ask whose silhouette descended to us. I knew him with the first cheerful note. 

As soon as I had him identified, I needed to feel his arms around me. Blind, instinctive, consuming. I wanted to breathe in his comforting scent. Why both seemed so urgent, I didn’t care. The instant he dropped to our level, I reached for him. 

OoOoOo

The lass felt like a block of ice as he gathered her to him. At first, she wrapped arms around him weakly, but then she resisted, complaining that his touch burned. His anger grew deeper, harder.

“Shh, my lass. ‘tis you who are cold.” 

Her struggles wound down, and she wilted against him. Her nose tucked into his neck, and he shivered. ‘twas like holding an icicle, and that was scant exaggeration. Her body began to shake, making her difficult to hold. 

_I’ve got you, my lass._ Bofur tightened his grip and nodded to his cousin. Bifur hauled at the rope, pulling them free. 

Bofur returned for Aleks as Bilbo draped Daphne in Bofur’s coat and rubbed her back. Aleks was a site more difficult to extricate. As warned, his legs had gone numb, making him about as difficult to manage as a boneless, hundred-pound fish. In the end, the satyr suggested a “fireman’s hold”. He’d not heard such a term before, but the position allowed Bofur to hold the taller lad’s frame as they were hefted from the shaft. In short order, Aleks sat beside his sister, shaking with Bifur’s coat over his shoulders. 

Bofur had rarely seen a more pitiful sight. He squatted before them, fighting to keep the anger from his face. “I know you had your hearts set on an encore, but if you can stand to part with your adoring audience, we’d best be fleeing.” He was gratified to see a trace of amusement upon both. 

Neither twin was much help in traversing the passageways, and Bofur’s temper climbed all the more with their every stumble. He and Bifur rushed them as best they could, each of them assisting a twin. 

The Company cheered when they returned with them, but when they got an eyeful of their condition, many a dwarf muttered threats of reprisal. 

“Hurry. Get them into the barrels,” Bilbo urged, his head craning around time and again towards the door. 

Bifur helped Aleks into a barrel and stuffed a couple blankets in with him. Bofur settled Daphne into his barrel. The metal rivets had him worried. She was too weak to protect herself from contact. Aye, and after this latest scare, he wanted her close where he could ensure himself of her safety. That it would place her in his arms was merely a secondary consideration. 

Truly. 

Bofur braced himself within the barrel, his mattock carefully wedged between the curved wooden side of the barrel and his thigh. He accepted another of the borrowed elvish blankets from Bilbo and tucked her into it before wrapping her in a tight embrace. Contentment washed over him. 

Once he was settled, he gave Bilbo a short nod. 

Bilbo pulled the lever. 

OoOoOo

At Thorin’s call, Aleks tried to stand up, dislodging the barrel’s lid with one arm. Night sky greeted him, one devoid of the moon’s light. Barrels bobbed in the river all around him, and he nodded to more than one dwarf.

Aleks couldn’t stop shaking. He tightened the blankets around him and huddled in upon himself, trying to get warm. _I hate elves._ He rubbed his arms and tried to ignore the way his very bones seemed to ache. As if they, too, had frozen in that cursed pit.

He counted energy signatures while remaining in human form. Ori, Dori, Oin. Nori, Kíli, Thorin. One by one, he located them all. Daph, he noted with a smirk, was huddled up against Bofur. For a dwarf so unassuming in appearance, the dude was definitely making himself known without seeming to. Aleks could see the younger toymaker’s lips moving. That one never ran out of things to say. 

Thorin’s barrel sloshed closer, and Aleks forgot all about the two as Thorin asked, “You are well, Aleks?” Gruff concern colored his tone. 

“Cold,” Aleks admitted. “Mad. That elf had better not show his face in Erebor because I’m…” He leaned forward, thought abandoned as he searched the opposite bank. “Thorin, we’ve got incoming.”

“Ware! To arms!” the King Under the Mountain hollered just as scores of orcs charged out of the trees along the banks. 

A line of archers with putrid-yellow energy signatures formed just beyond the river’s grasp. At no signal Aleks could see, they let loose. Arrows flew in the dwarves’ direction. Aleks ducked, craning around to check on his sister. Bofur had her beneath the barrel’s lip, the dwarf standing at the ready with his mattock in hand. Was he _batting_ at the arrows? 

An arrow sliced close, the fletching tickling Aleks’s cheek and tearing his attention from the dwarf.

Kíli returned fire, and Aleks cursed his own lack of weapon. He turned this way and that, hands tight upon the lip of the barrel as he searched for something, _anything,_ he could use as a weapon. He sent out a call for help, first in the language of bats (they were totally disinterested and creepy as all get-out, so he hastily abandoned that attempt), and then in owl. A few hoots came in return, and Aleks whooped to see the predators respond less than a minute later. Owls circled behind the orcs…and dove at them. Orcs bellowed in pain as razor-sharp talons raked across faces. A few lost their bows altogether to the birds’ grasping claws. 

It helped. By Durin, it helped, though it did not end the attack. There were simply too many orcs and too few owls. 

That was when Dori paddled closer in a hurry and tossed Aleks his tote. Aleks tore into the bag, throwing a quick, “Thanks, Dori. I owe you,” over his shoulder. He unzipped the top and bypassed the Ruger with barely any hesitation. To save Thorin, he’d need every bullet he had. Conservation was the name of the game. The Ruger was for the Battle of Five Armies. 

He retrieved his bow, checking it quickly for any sign of damage. Then grabbing the quiver, his plans went out the window. Of the arrows Bofur and Bifur had whipped up for him in the Misty Mountains, only six remained rattling around in the quiver. Aleks dove into his duffle in search of another weapon, hands shaking with nerves. “C’mon,” he growled. “Really?” What had happened to Daph’s ceramic knife? He’d put it in there, he was sure of it. 

Dwarves shouted and called to one another all around him, and Aleks stopped wasting time. He jerked upright and began to fire his bow. He’d make those six count.

A line of orcs charged into the water and broke upon them like a wave. After two arrows fired, Aleks found himself having to duck down in his barrel, _hiding_ for pity’s sake. Orcs closed in around him. Desperation being the mother of invention, he sealed up his tote again and lifted it, bashing it against any orc who attempted to latch onto the side of his barrel. 

As a weapon went, it was pretty lame, but it kept him alive long enough for Fíli to show up, dispatch two of the orcs like it was nothing, and toss him a blade. Aleks rearranged his grip on the bag and used it as a shield, his right hand wielding his new weapon.

Elves poured out of the woods on their opposite flank, all of them equipped with bows. Aleks could not believe it. “We _are_ cursed,” he muttered. How were they supposed to fight on both fronts? He spotted Legolas perched upon a tree branch, the limb’s wild swaying not hindering the elf at all. Legolas fired arrow after arrow…and not a one came close to a dwarf. It dawned on Aleks all at once. The elves were protecting them. 

Aleks looked up at Legolas again. Daph was right - Legolas was a _machine._ Aleks lifted his short blade in a salute. “Legolas! Woot!” and blocked a blow that came out of nowhere. 

Other elves joined their prince. Arrows whizzed through the air, the subsequent volleys as loud as riled hornets.

The barrels continued downstream, uncaring of the battle raging all around them. Orcs raced upon the banks to keep them in range, but those swimming and fighting in the water soon had a problem, for they entered an area of choppy rapids. 

Aleks’s barrel dipped downwards before shooting upwards like a cork from a bottle. Water sprayed into his face, and he swiped it from his eyes with the back of one arm. Two orcs burst from the water to his right. Aleks had only a split-second to inhale before they upended him into the churning water.

He almost lost the sword, and the duffle’s strap managed to wrap itself around him until it cut off all circulation to his left arm. _I. Don’t. BELIEVE IT._ Aleks twisted around frantically, trying to wrestle with the strap without losing his only weapon. He tore at it, untangling it and attempting to shove it to rest against his back. His legs scissored wildly, driving him deeper into the river. If he encountered those orcs now, he was dead meat with the duffle hampering him. 

Aleks swam beneath dozens of kicking, glowing appendages and finally got the duffle tamed. The current was incredible, sweeping them all along its path. It made navigating next to impossible. He was rolled by one current and came inches from dashing his head upon a rock he didn’t see until his nose brushed against it.

_Have to get out of this._

Something hard and unyielding grabbed his ankle like a manacle. Aleks almost inhaled a lungful of river water as he was yanked backwards. He swiveled at the waist and flashed satyr, decreasing his captor’s leverage but creating all kinds of drag upon his head as his antlers popped into existence. His opposite hoof kicked out and connected – _hoo-ya_ – with the orc’s forehead. 

A water-muffled bellow rewarded his efforts. 

In the dark, Aleks could only make out shadows and energy signatures. It was a totally freaky situation since he couldn’t see what the orc was doing. _I’m going to get sliced up,_ a part of him warned. If the orc held a weapon, he’d never see it coming. He kicked again and missed, the punishing grip upon his ankle tightening as the orc twisted the appendage, making Aleks’s whole body flop over and ruining his aim as he tried for kick number three. 

Aleks’s lungs burned with the building need for oxygen. He struggled for freedom, the fight expending more of his precious stores of O2. He’d been under longer than he’d intended. Much longer. Fear grew as Aleks’s body clamored for air louder and louder with each thrashing lunge upwards he made. Closer and closer he came, but the orc bore downward, an anchor that stopped him less than a foot below the surface.

Dude. This just wasn’t his day. 

Aleks gyrated around, the hold giving him traction, and lunged forward with the sword. The orc abandoned his hold on Aleks’s ankle in favor of fighting him for possession of the weapon. Thick, meaty hands tore at the hilt. Aleks held on, trying to wrench it free as the two of them were carried downstream. 

All of a sudden, they were falling. Aleks gulped in a lungful of air desperately. They smacked down into water, inertia driving them both deep and tearing them apart…and ripping the weapon from Aleks’s hands. Aleks had a moment to think, _Oh, crud,_ and the current grabbed him again. 

Had the orc managed to retain hold of the sword? Where was he? Aleks tried to twist and turn to locate the creature, but the river had him tumbling uncontrollably, first one direction, then another, and then head over heels with no rhyme or reason. It was like that gizmo -- that flight simulator featured on that old 80s flick, _Space Camp._ In two seconds flat, he was completely disoriented. 

_The current’s speeding up,_ Aleks realized. _Gaining strength._ He clawed towards the surface, returning to human form. Did a swifter current mean there was another waterfall up ahead? A bigger one? 

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He couldn’t _see._ Panic built, and every instinct screamed to move his butt towards the bank. Like, now. The problem was, he couldn’t find it. With his head poked above the surface, he saw no sign of the orc’s energy…or anyone else’s. Small energy specks stood like a wall of fireflies to his right, not close at all, but the left was completely devoid of that telltale sign of life. 

Where was the Company? Water splashed into his face, and he swallowed a mouthful of it, sputtering as he fought that current. He couldn’t have lost them.

_Daphne? Daph?_

For a split second, he thought he detected a whisper soft, _Aleks?_ The tenuous sound vanished before he could figure out if it was real or a product of his imagination. 

The river roared louder as it shoved and pushed him along with it. Aleks dunked under the surface, kicked upwards and coughed as his head won free. Powering perpendicular to the current, he headed (he hoped) for shore.

Air. Weightlessness. He shot out over another waterfall and went crashing down below. Once again, he was left disoriented, suspended in water. He almost freaked, wondering which way was up until he remembered to stop thrashing and wait. A second, then two. His body began to float in one direction. _Up,_ he mentally labeled. That way was up. 

Aleks clawed and kicked in that direction, panting when he broke through. His heart thumped like mad, and Aleks gulped down lungs-full of oxygen. How long he swam, just drinking in the sensation of relief, he didn’t know. But something bright teased the corner of his eye. He whipped towards it, heart racing into his esophagus.

_Kíli._ Daphne’s warning returned to him – how the young Durin was injured during the movie version of the escape. “Kíli,” he hollered. There was no answer, and Kíli’s glowing outline didn’t look to be moving. At all.

OoOoOo

One second, I was crouched inside the barrel, Bofur pretty much destroying any orc that ventured near. The next, the barrel was violently upended, spilling us both into the mean currents of the foaming river.

 _Bofur!_

Immediately, I was alone in the water’s greedy clutches. The river’s chaotic currents spun me like a vortex. In the dark, it was difficult to tell orc from dwarf. Underwater, that became impossible. The abrupt agitations of the river meant all kinds of dirt and mud had been churned up, making visibility nil. 

_-phne? Daph?_

Everything in me froze. Aleks? Was it possible I was really hearing…? I leaped to respond. _Aleks?_

An arm circled my waist, its grasp hard and sudden, scaring the wits right out of me. If Aleks responded, I sure didn’t hear him as someone powered us to the surface of the water. We burst free, my rescuer/captor panting with me. I jerked around, ready to go all postal on him if he was an orc.

Instant recognition: Bifur. No mistaking the glint of the ax-head embedded in his skull. But if Bifur had me, where was Bofur? Spurred on by sudden fear, I searched frantically for that familiar silhouette. 

Bifur’s footing slipped, and we went back under, both of us sputtering water. He grunted something in Khuzdul and tucked me under one arm like a football. Any attempts to locate the other toymaker had to be abandoned. I tried to help Bifur fight the river’s greedy pull, adding my own efforts in kicks hampered by my still somewhat frozen condition. 

_My bag._

It was only stuff. I knew it was only stuff, yet my heart seized for a moment, screaming at me to go find it. My clothes. My _music_. It was the very last link I had to my past. I could almost hear the flushing noise as it went spiraling down the drain like so much refuse. _Stuff. It’s only stuff,_ I repeated, as if repetition would dull the loss. So many memories wrapped up in those songs. They’d carried me through so many dark nights. 

_Amma’s seeds!_ The magnitude of that loss stole the breath from my lungs. The seeds - some had been harvested from plants that descended directly from my mother’s old garden. They were my lasts link to her. 

_Stuff,_ I told myself, forcing back the tears that rushed to my eyes. _Just stuff._ I channeled my efforts into helping Bifur keep us afloat, ignoring the hollow feeling in my chest. I’d trade the duffle and Amma’s seeds in a heartbeat if it kept any of these dwarves or Aleks safe. 

The river split, and Thorin bellowed at us to veer left. I risked another glance, trying to find Bofur, but in the dark, with the water bouncing us about, I couldn’t spot him.

“Kíli!” Fíli’s anguished cry split the night. 

Everyone reacted, heads swiveling around to find Kíli being hefted in the air. His legs dangled, making him suddenly appear small and frail. It reminded me too strongly of the movie and Fíli’s portrayed demise. The orc’s fist slammed into Kíli’s skull, and Kíli sagged in his grip. Unconscious. _Please let him only be unconscious,_ I prayed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Shot in the leg, maybe, not possibly killed and tossed aside like a broken toy by… My stomach dropped. 

_Bolg._ He’d finally shown up. 

Kíli’s body disappeared into the river. Fíli lunged towards where he’d vanished with a choked cry. Bifur hissed something, and all of the dwarves reacted with absolute outrage. 

Thorin roared and tried to swim upstream towards Azog’s son, his tone so bloodcurdling that it brought goose bumps to my arms. We tried, even Bifur and me. All of us attempted to swim towards that monster, searching beneath the murky water for any sign of Kíli the entire time. 

But the river had her way, propelling each of us in twos and threes over the edge of a waterfall. Dwarves yelled in frustration and fury as they fell. Me? I couldn’t so much as squeak with the suddenly brutal hold Bifur had on me. 

_Bofur?_ Like an addict in search of her next fix, I couldn’t stop seeking for some sign – any – that those orcs who’d upended us hadn’t overpowered my toymaker. Had he already gone over the falls? Or had he, too, encountered Bolg? I could have screamed in frustration as Bifur and I fought to remain above the waterfall. 

Bolg saw me and laughed, diving into the river and powering in my direction. That was when Bifur scissored his legs, lining us up in the current so that it would sweep us away. Fast. 

We shot over the edge and fell. I closed my eyes and held to the arm around my waist. Down and down we plummeted, feet-first. We smacked into water, the impact jarring my ankles, and plunged deep into the pool below. For an instant, I caught a glimpse of another view superimposed over mine – a bank littered with sharp, punishing stones, all overlaid with a chilled cold that penetrated to the bone. 

Just as fast, it vanished, leaving me in oddly warm waters. Bifur had kept hold of me the entire time. When he began to propel us through the water, I assisted, unsure whether the direction he’d chosen was up or down but hoping in his judgment. I thought we might be headed in the right direction when I could suddenly hear Fíli’s voice, muffled and distorted through the water, as he cried out for his brother. 

We broke free from the pool’s belly, both gasping for air. 

“Kíli!” Fíli called once more. The pain in his voice brought tears and a sense of overwhelming fear to me, too. 

Another weird flash, one that had me clinging to Bifur as I saw a comatose Kíli in my arms, his face pale. My heart pounded as I tried to remember CPR. He wasn’t breathing. He _wasn’t breathing._

It let go, and I gasped. Aleks. _Aleks_ was with Kíli. “Aleks,” I moaned, twisting about in Bifur’s grasp in search of my brother, knowing I wouldn’t find him but compelled to look. To prove what I’d seen wasn’t true and that he was safely among the Company, thereby also proving Kíli wasn’t…wasn’t…

And frantically seeking Aleks, I spotted Bofur waiting near the bank with the rest of the Company as Bifur propelled us towards them. “Bofur.” I all but flew from Bifur’s grasp to his cousin, throwing arms around him. “You’re okay,” I said, arms so tight around him that they ached. I didn’t stop to wonder at the depth of my reaction, I only knew immense relief washed over me to find that Bofur, at least, was hale and whole. 

“Kíli,” Fíli shouted again. 

_“Och,_ lass, you do flatter a dwarf so,” Bofur murmured, one hand smoothing down my hair before giving one lock a tug. Then louder, “We’re missing Aleks as well, Thorin.”

A soaking wet Thorin scowled up at the cliff above, his body quivering with suppressed violence. 

“I don’t think they are following,” Dori commented, staring in the same direction. 

“They wouldn’t just let us go,” Ori objected. “Would they?”

“The elves hold them. For now,” Thorin said, voice tight with anger. “We have little time to spare. Divide up. Nori, Gloin--”

I waved a hand, interrupting. “I think…” I croaked. Coughed. Tried again, “I think I saw them.”

That quick, I was the center of attention. Fíli hurrying to me, his boots squelching in the mud. He was just as drenched as the rest of us, and his light eyes burned with desperation. “Where?” he demanded.

Thorin pressed a hand to his shoulder and murmured, “Mistress Hunt?”

I leaned against Bofur, hands fisted around folds in his jerkin. “Aleks is with Kíli. I caught a glimpse, that’s all. A riverbank, covered in stones.”

“There are no stones along this river,” Ori objected.

Thorin silenced him with a look. Back to me, “How?”

“It was like a vision. One minute, I--”

Thorin growled impatiently. “We have not the time for imaginings.” His back turned to me, and he swiftly ordered his dwarves to disperse in search of Kíli and Aleks. 

A part of me felt the sting of his words and bristled. True, the twin bond had been MIA since Aleks had ripped me free of the laurel shell I’d formed, but I’d also heard him call my name before. Hadn’t I? The rest of me just got mad. Thorin hadn’t even listened. 

_Give the guy a break,_ I told myself. _He just saw Bolg kill Kíli._ I really hoped I was wrong on that, hoped Aleks was with Kíli and remembered his CPR. I tried to “tune in” again, but try as I might, I got nothing further from my brother, making me question my own impressions. 

Bofur jostled me subtly as he, Bifur, and Bombur acknowledged Thorin’s orders and headed us off to search in another direction. “What did you see?” he asked in an undertone. Bifur and Bombur huddled close, listening intently. 

“The other part of the river. We have to search there,” I muttered, my hands wrapped around myself, hugging what body heat I had to me. 

“Aye, and Thorin and Fíli know this, lass,” Bombur assured. “Don’t take their anger to heart.”

“I’m not.” A huff. “Well, not much.” Softer, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

Bofur made a sound in the back of his throat, a combination of annoyance and amusement. “Have you considered that your books might be flawed, my Daphne?”

I whirled on him, one finger poking his chest. “Don’t you start.”

He collected my finger and lowered it (still in his grasp) out of the way, refusing to release his hold as I tugged and scowled at him. “Will you render me unconscious then?” he asked in high humor.

It only made me madder. “This isn’t a joking matter. They’re out there. Aleks and Kíli. And--”

A finger to my lips halted my words. “Don’t be thinking I’m not caring, my lass. Will it spare them a moment of pain if I let worry rule me and speak of my fears? Nay, lass, it will do naught but dishearten the Company.”

_Gah,_ I felt like a heel. A _juvenile_ heel. Bofur kept everyone sane with his persistent good cheer and optimism. He’d kept me sane when I’d been stuck in tree-form with those same characteristics that I was lambasting him for now. I scrubbed at my face. “I’m sorry, Bofur.” I lowered my hands, fingers twining together at my waist. “I saw him. Kíli. He wasn’t breathing.” I stomped further down the path, a trio of very quiet dwarves following. “Aleks was freaked out, trying to remember how to do CPR--”

“Eh, back up, there, lass. Ye saw Kíli, and the lad was not breathing?” Bofur asked, his brows disappearing into his hat, and his face losing every remnant of humor.

I hastened to say, “He had a chance. _Has_ a chance.”

“This _Seepy Ar,_ it can save him?” Bofur’s hand found my wrist and pulled me closer, his grip not painful but demanding.

Bifur rubbed his jaw, the flesh around the ax head white and creased. Bombur tapped his humongous ladle against his thigh. “Some magic from your realm, lass?” Bombur asked.

I gently closed a hand around one of Bofur’s braids, fingers discovering the course, thick feel of it as I held his gaze. “I can’t promise anything. CPR is an acronym. It stands for Cardiac Pulmonary Resuscitation. Basically, it is a system anyone can learn that can restart a heart. Or get someone breathing again. It isn’t a miracle or magic, but if Kíli stopped breathing because he inhaled a lungful of water, CPR can save him. _If_ Aleks got to him in time. _If_ he remembers how to do it.”

Bofur’s hand closed about mine. “Then we’d best be finding them.”

OoOoOo

We searched all night. The elves must have driven off the orcs, because we didn’t see them again. Legolas didn’t approach, but I caught a glimpse of him from time to time, watching over us at a distance. He was protecting our “escape” and likely to incur his father’s wrath for it. The fangirls were right. Legolas was the real deal - handsome beyond belief, generous, noble, and brave. Drool-fest worthy, indeed.

We found no sign of Aleks or Kíli. Maybe they’d been swept further downstream. Maybe Aleks had revived Kíli and they’d made tracks knowing orcs were in the vicinity. 

In the end, we had no choice. We set course for Lake-town, hoping they’d do likewise. Fíli was a ticking bomb, silent and coiled tighter than any spring ever created. Thorin spoke only in a harsh monosyllables. Every time his gray eyes turned my way, I felt scorched. 

Perhaps it was anger at the hope I’d given them with my words, only for it to be dashed with the utterance of the word, _vision._ Did I really expect them to believe me? Would I in their shoes? 

Slogging along the river’s edge, I kept my head down and forced my feet to keep pace.


	35. Orcs and Thugs

### Chapter 34

_Aleks?_

I rubbed my temples from my rooftop perch, eyes scratchy and dry from exhaustion. My gaze was fixated upon the distant shape of Lake-town’s gates. Watching. Hoping. I squinted at the sun, my fear growing with every inch it gained along its arc overhead. _Aleks, please, you have to be okay._

It just wasn’t fair. We were finally talking, though granted, our flight through Mirkwood had left little opportunity for that. But the time in Thranduil’s pit had been…healing. We’d spoken. Shared. My certainty that I had my brother back had begun to solidify. 

And now this.

My chin settled upon my folded arms, which in turn rested upon my gown-covered knees. The nightgown I wore was absurdly young, but since I’d lost everything in the river, I’d been gifted with dozens of hand-me-downs from the men of Lake-town. _Kid_ hand-me-downs. Dresses, every blessed one of them. 

_Aleks?_

I wistfully thought that maybe I should have roused Bofur to keep me company, but it really would have been selfish. The dwarves were exhausted, too. Just because I couldn’t sleep didn’t give me the right to prevent him from getting some z’s. 

My eyes drifted to the streets below. I hated the de-facto ruler of this place. I hated the poverty that ruled here. It was so much worse than I’d anticipated, and I felt vicariously guilty sitting up here in my rich-girl’s white, ribboned nightgown when everyone on the street wore little more than patched-up rags.

Lake-town was, simply put, huge. One lip touched ground near the gates with only four or five buildings squeezed within the half-moon of land behind the city’s walls. Everything else perched on an extensive network of piers and boardwalks that stretched out from there. The city had to be a good five square miles if you crammed it all together, but as it was, it sprawled outward much farther. 

Its wooden walkways extended on, and on, and _on._ All of them were crammed full of structures, from three-storied mansions like the one I perched upon – the place commandeered by the Master of Lake-town for our use – to lean-to type shacks that looked like a soft wind might blow them over. There was no color here. No plants, no bright fabrics, and no paint but for the faded, chipped surface of the Master’s residence.

I sneered at the memory of the man. The Master had not made a favorable impression on the Company. The man’s assumed benign gentility could not mask the lust for wealth consuming him. Add to that his garishly opulent attire, a stark contrast to the abject poverty among his subjects, and you had one disgusted and distrustful Thorin. Oh, Thorin had dealt with the man cordially enough, but it was plain he had no liking for the necessity. He’d even assigned Gloin first watch when we’d settled in, regardless of how exhausted the redhead was. 

Nope, Thorin didn’t trust the Master at all.

For myself, I was more leery about the Master’s two sycophants. They’d hovered around him like bloated leeches, eager for more. Hungry, those two, and not for food as the other citizens of Lake-town. No, they wanted power. Wealth. There was a dark, consuming drive visible in their eyes. No matter that they, too, wore brocades and velvets or that their fingers were loaded up with precious gemstones. They wanted more. 

When they’d sighted me, their eyes had lit up like Christmas. Whether they thought I was an active member of the Company who would inherit a large segment of Erebor’s wealth, or that they could use me as leverage, I had no idea. They’d given me a Godzilla-sized case of the creeps. I was going to make very certain to never be without Company protection while in this town.

And, yeah, that meant my trip up to the roof alone was kind of stupid. Again, it occurred to me to hunt down Bofur, who’d been given a room on the first floor. Or even Bifur, who’d been assigned the room beside mine with Dwalin. Once again, I felt stupid considering it. I mean, what, tell them some guys looked at me, and now I needed my hand held like a little girl who’d lost her doll? 

I was safe enough here, I assured myself, my attention back upon the gate. Who’d search me out on the roof? 

“Mistress Hunt.” 

I jumped. Seriously jumped. “Th-Thorin, what are you doing up here?”

A cocked brow as the King Under the Mountain paced towards me. That he’d used the widow’s walk to gain access as I had was plain by the door he’d left open in his wake. “Gloin found your room unoccupied, the balcony door wide open.”

Um. _What?_ I straightened. 

“Needless to say, the Company is roused.” Sure enough, sounds of the front door banging open reached us. No wonder Thorin looked all snarly. He marched to the edge of the roof, muscles all along his back bunched up and tense. Peering over the edge, he called down an all’s-well to whomever had rushed from the house. Mansion. Whatever. 

Did I leave the balcony doors open? I rubbed my head again, trying to remember. I was so tired. 

“Why are you up here?” he abruptly demanded, zero patience in his voice. “You alarmed the Company for _no good reason.”_ His gaze followed the direction I faced and incredulity drew his brows to his hairline. “Watching for them will not hasten their return.” 

“No, but…”

Feet pounded up the stairs from inside, each thump an accusation. I winced. I’d snuck out to avoid this. A second later, “Where is the lass?” Gloin demanded from the stairwell leading up to the widow’s walk. “I’ll throttle her for sneaking off on me.”

OoOoOo

Aleks shifted his grip upon Kíli’s comatose body, alleviating the strain on his back and chest muscles. If there was one thing he’d discovered after successfully thumping the dwarf into life once again, it was that dwarves weighed a lot for their size.

No, really. A _lot._

He’d known them to be strong and sturdy, and their muscle mass would explain away some of it, but… _dang._ Carrying a sack of rocks would be easier. 

His hoof slipped on a loose stone, and he wrenched his back muscles - again - in his bid not drop Kíli on his fool head. It wasn’t Kíli’s fault, Aleks knew that, but the situation was getting old. 

A branch snapped.

Aleks reacted like a shot. He dumped Kíli at his feet in the shadow of some scrub brush, his duffle tossed in the same general direction. A heartbeat later, his arrow was notched in Kíli’s bow and ready to be loosed, muscles quivering with tension. His own uneven breaths filled his ears as Aleks scanned the dark woods for the source. 

_I hate Mirkwood._

He’d been playing hide n’ seek with a handful of orcs all night. And day. He’d skirted the edges of the diseased forest for added safety, so he’d at least been able to track the progression of time by the change in the sun’s rays upon distant trees and shrubs. (His _appa’s_ pocket watch had proved too waterlogged to be working, adding to his overall tetchy mood.) 

Time and again, he’d tried to venture out of the woods only to be forced into retreat upon spying an orc or two prowling just outside of the sun’s reach. He was beyond tired, his nerves shot, and worse, he was scared spitless for Kíli. The dwarf had not so much as moaned in all this time.

_C’mon, Daph, where are you?_

He’d tried, time and again he’d tried, but each foray towards Lake-town ended with a roadblock of some sort. He needed the Company, but the Company wasn’t coming. He couldn’t depend upon a rescue. They’d search, Aleks was sure of that, but he had been forced to take the most convoluted of paths. The dwarves would never find them without Daph’s help, and she hadn’t recovered yet.

_If she ever will._

A heavy realization: _I can’t wait anymore._ It was time to change tactics. Hide and evade hadn’t worked. Maybe a Rambo approach would. _What I wouldn’t give for some real firepower._ An AK-47, maybe some grenades. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? 

Yeah, Marcus would have loved that. Aleks could just visualize the jerk’s horrified expression if he’d asked for them. Marcus probably would have suspected Aleks of going all homicidal or something. 

More crunching, snapping noises. Aleks crouched down, not allowing the bowstring to slack. An orc stepped into view, its energy signature rendering any effort at stealth wasted. Aleks permitted himself a small, vengeful smile. _Come a little closer._ As he watched the orc move down the deer track, he kept a sharp eye peeled for any reinforcements. For the most part, these guys had been in small groups. With any luck, that would hold. 

Not twenty paces behind the first dude, another came into view. He wasn’t close enough for Aleks to see more than his energy signature. From the way he proceeded, crossing one foot before the other with utmost care, the second orc was a pro. The first orc had seemed competent enough, but the back guy was the more dangerous, guaranteed. Aleks would have bet his entire savings account on it. 

That, of course, was when Kíli finally moaned.

Aleks loosed his arrow and notched another before the closer orc could react. The first arrow plunked into the creature’s hip, not deeply enough to hinder it. Aleks fired again, correcting his aim with a hissed inhale. This time, the arrow punctured the orc’s throat.

_Down._ The thing gurgled and choked out its death knell. 

Aleks’s attention rushed to the bigger threat. The other creature fired arrow after arrow. The wind of one brushed Aleks’s cheek. Several flew wild, missing by yards. 

_He can’t see us._

Another thumped into the ground inches from Kíli.

Lucky shots like that would get them killed. When Daph had told him how the story ended – how it was told back home – he’d vowed not to lose the Durins. Drawing the blade he’d filched from Kíli, he sidled across the almost nonexistent path, making sure to cause sufficient commotion to alert the orc.

It charged.

He ran. Aleks tore across the landscape, vaulting over obstacles and luring the orc onward. _Trees. Keep trees between us._ An arrow in the back sure would put a crimp in all his great plans for the future. He had to keep close to Kíli – no way could he leave Kíli defenseless – so the instant he believed he’d put enough distance between the orc and Kíli, he turned to face his foe.

Aleks’s knees wobbled. With pale skin and larger than normal proportions, there was only one orc this could be.

Bolg.

OoOoOo

The dwarves spilled out upon the widow’s walk like water bursting from a dam. Poor Ori was almost knocked off the narrow ledge. Dori and Nori lunged for him and hauled him back to safety as the others stepped between embrasures onto the roof’s surface.

I debated telling Thorin that I didn’t remember touching the balcony door. I wasn’t _sure,_ but I really didn’t think I’d opened it. When I turned back to him, though, his attention was locked upon the Lonely Mountain. “Thorin?” 

The dwarves surrounded us before he responded, and really, I wasn’t sure he would. He looked…mesmerized. 

I lost sight of him as a set of brown-green eyes planted themselves right in front of me, the face accompanying them both exasperated and lit with humor. While Gloin groused at my side, Bofur murmured, “The princeling warned us, he did, that you had the soul of an elf. He should have mentioned a love of climbing.” He threw a significant look towards the widow’s walk. “You could have taken the stairs instead of scaling walls.” Less amusement now. “You could have slipped, my lass.” With one hand, he separated out a lock of hair and gave it a gentle tug. 

A half dozen nods followed his words. I darted a glance towards Thorin. He was still gazing at that mountain like a man in a daze.

Stepping closer to Bofur, I lowered my voice. Not that it mattered. The instant it seemed I was going to say something to the dwarf in confidence, the rest leaned in to hear every word. That was fine with me. It was Thorin I wanted to avoid angering. 

“I didn’t use the balcony,” I told him, my gaze returning to Thorin. “I swear, Bofur, I don’t remember touching the balcony doors at all. I’m tired, so I could be wrong, but…I really don’t remember going near them.”

“Thorin, did you hear that? Mistress Hunt didn’t open those doors,” Nori said. 

Silence. More heads turned towards their leader.

Gloin cleared his throat. “Thorin?” No response. He shot me a look, one that carried with it the same suspicions I harbored. I’d told the dwarves who’d accompanied me to the Misty Mountains about this particular problem, so while most of the group looked confused and worried, Gloin, Bofur, Bifur and Bombur all had dismay stamped upon their faces. 

Balin spoke, pulling our attention from his king. “Bofur, Ori, remain with our dryad. The rest of us will search the house. Nori, inspect that balcony door, aye?” Most of them trooped off straight away. Balin turned to face Thorin one last time, but Thorin seemed utterly unaware of anyone’s regard until Balin placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Thorin?”

Thorin startled, taking a deep breath. “Look at it, Balin. So close. We will succeed. I can feel it.”

“Aye, we’ll see it done.”

Thorin’s gray eyes settled upon the small cluster of us yet on the roof. “Why are you all standing here doing nothing? There is plenty that needs seeing to. Balin, send Oin to obtain what herbs and supplies he needs for his supplies. Bofur, take your brother and gather us provisions.” 

Bofur inclined his head. With a last look at me, he returned to the widow’s walk and then down the stairs into the residence itself. 

“Mistress Hunt, take Ori and search out clothing and bedrolls. You cannot continue in borrowed children’s clothes.” 

He’d noticed? 

Almost as an afterthought, Thorin tacked on, “Gather any herbs you would wish for your own healer’s supplies. During our journey, Oin will evaluate and continue your training.” 

_Oookay then._ I didn’t know whether to be grateful he’d noticed my interest in the area or insulted that he thought me so lacking. Still, a thrill shimmied up my spine. The chance to learn from Oin was like a dream come true. Lord Elrond might have the reputation and centuries more experience under his belt, but I’d prefer Oin any day. _He_ hadn’t threatened to find a way to lob me back to Earth. “Yes, Thorin.”

My lower lip disappeared into my mouth as I made my way down the widow’s walk to the stairs. Find supplies. Alone with Ori. Not that I didn’t trust Ori, but I’d have felt oodles safer with oh, say, Gloin. This rather sucked sour lemons. 

I dared to hope my earlier worries were an overreaction. I was tired. I’d probably just misjudged the danger. Like anyone sane would target me when the dwarves were in town, right?

Ten minutes later found me in the least offensive of my borrowed clothes: a ludicrous buttercup dress with a multi-layer, flouncy hem and a big white sash around the waist. I had been tempted to do my hair up in pigtails just to complete the image. If the townsfolk were opening up their larder for us, I wondered if I could beg a pair of breeches and a man’s shirt off the merchants.

_They’d be scandalized._ One thing I’d noted straight off - while the woodland elves had no problems allowing their women to roam about in pants, and the dwarves didn’t seem to care one way or another so long as I didn’t try and sit tailor-style (I’d made that mistake once), in Lake-town every woman wore a skirt. 

_Aleks?_

Ori gestured me out the front door and onto the boardwalk. “Mistress Daphne.”

“Just Daphne, Ori.” I threw him a pleading look.

The young scholar blushed and dipped his head. “Daphne,” he corrected. “Aleks will be fine. You’ll see.” 

It was the sweetest thing to see him try to offer consolation when so horribly uncomfortable. His deep blush made me appreciate it all the more.

“You think so?” Because in my core of cores, I was petrified. Aleks was out there somewhere. He might have had to bury one of his best friends. Was he hurt? Scared?

A flash of something drew my attention behind us. A pair of little girls giggled as they hid behind a scarecrow-thin woman. The two eyed Ori and me while whispering to each other. I waggled some fingers at them, and they squealed. 

Ori guided me to the side of the boardwalk as a couple big men tromped by carrying huge sacks of grain. The plank streets of Lake-town were full, and the people busy about their business. The bustle almost drowned out the lapping of water upon the supports beneath our feet. The gulls, though, were a different story. 

Ori followed the direction of my glance and frowned. “Are they touched?”

A spurt of amusement crowded my fears into the background. “Touched?” I asked, knowing exactly what he was asking.

He fidgeted with his slingshot, his eyes studiously avoiding mine. “Addled,” he said in a dramatic whisper.

_Too cute!_

Twisting about, I again located the giggling duo. They were bopping around, darting from behind the shelter of one person after another as they trailed us. One little urchin had thick sausage curls all done up into a ribbon that had seen better days at the base of her neck. With blond hair and blue eyes, she had a very Nordic look about her. The other, a brunette with hair as straight as a rail, had freckles and dimples. She’d have made a poster child for _Annie_ if only she’d had the curly red ringlets. Both wore patched dresses that had faded from their previous glory – one looked to have once been blue and the other yellow – and their feet were bare. 

“The girls?”

Ori nodded, still avoiding eye contact. 

“They’re girls, Ori. We are strangers. Plus, I’ll bet they’ve never set eyes upon a dwarf before.” 

His dark eyes lifted to mine and hurried away. “You are saying the laughter…?”

“Is normal,” I finished with a low chuckle. “Haven’t you spent time with little girls before?”

He busied himself with checking his weapon and ammo. “Master Aleks said it is not the same for naiads.” A shyly intent look. “Among the Khazâd, the standard is one lass for every three males.”

I tried not to grin at his discomfort but, again, _cute._ “No, it is definitely not the same,” I said. We had to dodge a couple more pedestrians before I could continue. “Naiads have twins. Always. One boy, one girl.”

His eyes widened. “Does Bofur know of this?”

My brows pursed in confusion. “No, I don’t believe the subject ever came up.” And why should it? 

The question was on the tip of my tongue when a meaty fist slammed down onto Ori’s head. On a lesser man, pretty much any human, the victim would have been out cold. The dwarf in question spun around, unsteady but upright. The thug – I didn’t recognize him – threw another punch, but Ori blocked him. 

Ori’s face turned hard, intent as he sized up his opponent without an ounce of visible fear. No, the scholar looked riled as a wet cat and much more dangerous. “Daphne, go.”

Arms wrapped around me from behind. 

“Take her,” the brute attacking Ori growled from within an unkempt, matted beard. Greasy black hair, discolored teeth, and body that stank of stale onion, he definitely had the bad guy image down pat.

The guy behind me grunted as my elbow connected with his belly. I dropped onto my ankles, sliding from his grasp, but then he grabbed the much-lamented flounces of my skirt. Thug Number Two cackled. “Someone wants a word with you.”

Well, I didn’t want a word with _someone._

The street cleared. How was that for chivalry? Ori exchanged blows with Thug One, the scholar’s temper sky-high if angle of his jaw was any indicator. I almost crowed when I saw he’d broken the brute’s nose. _Woot, Ori!_

My thug reeled me in by my skirt. I stomped down on his instep, but since my shoes were flimsy slipper-like contraptions designed to match my hideous dress, it was like swatting at a charging rhino with a feather boa. He gave me the same fist-thump Ori had received, only this time, it was way more effective.

My vision blurred, and my knees gave out. 

“Stupid git,” the man growled before throwing me over his shoulder. I heard Ori call out to me, then a huge splash. Since that was followed by the other man joining us, shoving people from their path as we turned a corner, I assumed Ori had been tossed off the docks.

Then things darkened. _I can’t pass out now!_ A pale, orcish face swam before me, its teeth bared in a wicked grin. I stood my ground, sword in hand. Bolg. 

Oh, no. _Aleks._

I blinked away the strange double-vision. Had to get free. Now. Had to tell the Company. Dangling as I was, I had limited options. Too short for my knee to reach the favored feminine target. No weapons. My hands grabbed fistfuls of dingy, unwashed gray hair, and I tore at it with all my strength. 

“Witch!” 

But I wasn’t done. My teeth found his ear, and I clamped down until I tasted blood. 

“You little viper!” 

He shoved me off of him with all his strength. I flew across the plank street, slamming into, and through, the wall of a one-room shack. The single resident, an old man with bent back and gnarled, twisted fingers, gaped as I teetered to my feet. 

Footsteps pounded in our direction. 

_Move,_ I growled to myself, forcing wobbly limbs to bear my weight. As the thugs kicked their way through the new door my body had created, I wriggled through the sole window on the back of the shack, spilling down not onto hard wood as I’d anticipated, but into the waters of Long Lake.

“She’s in the water,” Thug One shouted. 

That was when a boat came coasting out of nowhere and slammed into me.

OoOoOo

Aleks dodged Bolg’s powerful swipes in desperation. He was outmatched. _Really_ outmatched. A handful of lessons with Dwalin did not equal proficiency with a sword, and that split-second of empathy with Daph had almost done him in. Now he had to worry not just about Kíli but his sister. How could she be in peril if she was with the Company?

Worse, the threat to his sister had sent satyr-rage flooding through his veins. Instinctive. Automatic. _No,_ he tried. _THINK. Head in the game, Hunt._ How many times had Thorin warned him never to lose focus? But the rage boiled through him, making him tremble.

He dove to the side, rolling into a spindly weed and a face-full of sunlight. He slapped away thorns and moved, getting out of the blinding ray of light. Vaulting to his hooves with a snarl, his antlers tearing free of the weed, he lurched leftward as a massive sword sliced down inches from his side. 

_He’s toying with me._

Aleks’s vision adopted a red hue. He faced his foe, sword in an easy grip as he’d been shown, and tried to force the satyr back enough to weighed his options. Instinct was so close to the driver’s seat, he could taste the berserker rage. 

_Don’t let anger control you._

The orc uttered words in what Daph had identified before as Black Speech. Its lip curled up in a sneer. 

“Yeah, back at ya, buddy,” Aleks muttered. 

A strange expression flitted across the orc’s face, one he’d seen a few times already. Speculation, maybe? _He’s never seen a naiad before._ Another thought, _If he was sent after Thorin or Daph, he needs something to save his own neck._ The satyr side of him screamed it would not be captured and caged. The human side said he’d best be very, very careful. Daph wasn’t the only one to have dangerous information rattling around in her brain now. Sauron was reportedly a master at extracting information from unwilling lips. 

In other words? _Don’t get cocky,_ he told himself. 

“Surrender,” Bolg commanded. 

Arrogant thing, wasn’t he? But a satyr didn’t know “surrender”. Aleks rotated his sword a few times in his clasp, loosening cramping muscles. “You wish to surrender? Very well.” A smirk of his own. “Kneel.”

A bellow of anger, and the orc charged. Aleks blocked the first thrust of the orc’s larger sword, barely – _Barely still counts,_ an inner voice proclaimed – and kicked out with one hoof, aiming for the knee and grazing a shin as Bolg did some dodging of his own. The orc freed up one hand so fast, his movements almost blurred, and a fist came barreling towards Aleks’s nose. 

Aleks spun around the blow and leaped away as the sword again lashed out at his midriff. One thing he was learning fast, he was no dwarf to stand toe-to-toe with a muscular orc. Like an elf, he’d have to do what he could to dance around the creature. Agility would be his saving grace.

Bolg prowled after him, spitting insults (or so Aleks supposed) with a gloating lilt. 

“Aleks?” 

At Kíli’s hoarse, confused call, the orc smiled. Slowly. Maliciously. 

_Oh, come on!_ Aleks could have howled at the sky. Instead, a desperate cry, “Kíli, get out of here!” He went from zero to thirty in a split-second as he chased after the orc. Absolute fury tipped him over the edge into berserker-ville as Bolg arrowed right for the vulnerable Durin. Kíli stood with one hand against the bark of a tree, blinking as if unable to focus his eyes. The dude was a sitting duck. 

The next few moments were a hazy recollection to Aleks. He remembered screaming in fury as he hurled himself at Bolg’s back. He remembered bodies crashing together and pressure upon his antlers. His teeth had been bared like an animal’s, and he’d torn at his foe with teeth and nails, his antlers stuck by something. A burning pain speared through his side just as one antler slipped loose, but as his head inched forward, bringing teeth closer to vulnerable neck, the orc roared with pain.

Aleks was airborne, catapulted away with a mighty shove. He fell onto his back, his sword lost somewhere in the madness. Sanity returned, and he clamped his hands down upon his aching side only to lift one palm to find it covered in sticky red blood. _This can’t be good._

Bolg screamed again, this time the sound angrier than a kicked lion. Lifting his head, Aleks saw why. The orc was missing his left eye. _Antlers,_ instinct told him. A fluke, and a freakishly awesome one at that.

The orc kicked Aleks’s missing sword from his path and stalked towards him, his intact eye flashing with a murderous fire. Aleks backed away painfully, shoving with hooves and pulling with one elbow. He had no other weapons. No handy knife stashed in a boot (nor boot, for that matter), and no gun at his hip. The bow, he’d dropped near Kíli along with duffle and quiver. 

Aleks backed into a boulder of some sort. In that moment, everything sank in with perfect clarity: the deep blue of the sky, the feel of the sun’s warmth upon his face undiluted by even a hint of breeze. The distant thunder of a river, likely _the_ river. The iron smell of blood mixed with sweat and pain. His hand scrambled for a weapon, any weapon, and came up with a melon-sized rock. Holding it in a white-fingered grip, he painfully pulled himself to his hooves using his right arm. His left arm pressed tight to his wounded side. A vain attempt to staunch the bleeding, he presumed, but he wanted to live. He’d fight for his life, hoof and nail. 

Bolg saw his pitiful weapon and raised his sword. It bore a crimson stain all along one side. The orc’s black tongue peeked out and lapped at it, his destroyed eye an oozing black mess that streaked down his face. The whole thing was totally unnerving, but Aleks stood his ground. 

Bright side? Bolg had a blind spot now. That meant lost depth perception, something even Super Orc, Jr. would have to adapt to. A chance. A slim one, but it sure beat the odds a bare minute ago.

Aleks extended one arm and spread his legs into a wider, stable stance. Then he wiggled his fingers, beckoning the orc to approach, forcing a cocky smile onto his lips. Standing like this hurt, but Aleks needed this to end. Now. He had to finish Bolg. Do or die.

The orc stepped towards him. 

_Wait for it. Wait for it._ He had to get this right. 

Another step, then another. The orc seemed to move in slow motion. _Adrenaline,_ a distant part of him provided. Step. Step. Step. _Just a little closer._ Step. Step.

Aleks let loose with the rock, his whole body behind the thrust as he hurled it at his target. 

He missed. 

Castigating himself up one side and down the other, he rushed his foe. Bolg’s blade flashed, lancing outward and across in a wide swing. Aleks bent double, his side shrieking, then rose and darted into Bolg’s blind left side. _Crack._ His hoof whipped out in a roundhouse kick, slamming into Bolg’s knee. Down the orc went as the leg collapsed backwards from under him. 

Before Aleks could finish him, Kíli was there, blade in hand. The sword arced down, blood spurt, and Bolg, son of Azog, was no more.


	36. Naiad 101

### Chapter 35

Aleks fell to the grass, hands clasping his side. He peeled them back long enough to get a better look at his injury. 

_I’m bleeding like a stuck pig._ Bolg’s strike had cut through skin and fat to graze muscle. _Too close, Hunt._ Another inch, and Bolg might have struck gold, seriously damaging vital organs. “Does the phrase ‘nick of time’ mean anything to you, Kíli?”

Kíli weaved on his feet like he’d had a pint or two too many, but he succeeded in circling the orc’s body to Aleks. “Is that...?” Kíli’s eyes squinted at the corpse. “That’s not Azog. I thought he was Azog, seeking to kill Uncle once again.”

“No,” Aleks agreed with a sigh. He seriously wanted to lay down and get some shut-eye. It’d be an idiot’s move, but the temptation persisted. “Kíli, meet Bolg, son of Azog. Bolg… Well, you’re dead. Not like you care.” Amazing how he liked the guy better already. From whatever hell the monster now inhabited, he imagined the sentiment was not reciprocated.

“Bolg?” Kíli blinked down at the orc and Aleks in turn. 

“How’s the head?” Aleks asked. He allowed the satyr to bleed away, returning him to full-human guise. 

Kíli stumbled closer and collapsed a yard or so away from him, a confused look springing up on his face. Another series of blinks. “It hurts,” he said simply. “Everything is dancing.”

That wasn’t good, was it? 

“And you, Aleks? Are you well?” Kíli asked in a pinched voice.

“He cut me.” Aleks searched Kíli’s person and then the direction from which he’d come. “Did you bring our gear?”

“What gear?” 

The dude looked seriously lost. Shaking his head, Aleks forced his feet under him. They had to retrieve their things and get outta Dodge before they ran into any other searchers. 

Between the two of them, they did manage to orient themselves, but thanks to the terrain and their injuries, they had to concede and make camp when the moon rose. The night was warm, but neither was comfortable. Kíli’s disorientation worried Aleks a lot, as did his own wound after Kíli blithely informed him that orcs liked to poison their weapons. 

_Thanks for the reassuring news flash, my man._

They spotted teams of orcs a handful of times. Aleks befriended a fox out of sheer desperation. He had little to offer the small animal, but they needed the extra set of eyes, especially when neither could remain awake any longer. Aleks fell asleep with the small animal curled up at his hip.

The next morning, it was more of the same, only this time, as wildlife grew more abundant, so did Aleks’s helpers. Birds kept a sharp eye out for them, and the fox proved invaluable in selecting paths that the two of them could actually traverse. (They’d learned fast that birds had no conception of passable versus impassible. Made sense, really.)

The sun had reached its zenith when Lake-town came into view. If not for the worry haunting him, Aleks would have rejoiced. He hadn't forgotten his twin or the impression he’d received. Some men had tried to grab her. Was she alright? Had she been rescued? And did it mean the men of Lake-town were enemies, or was something else at work?

A quarter mile or so from the ramshackle gate, he halted Kíli with a hand to his arm. “Listen. The Company might be in trouble.”

Kíli’s head whipped around, then the dwarf closed his eyes in clear pain. “You tell me this now?” 

Aleks ran a weary hand over his face, stroking his beard at the tail end. The faintest speck of amusement sparked on contact. He’d tease Kíli about besting him in the facial-hair department later. “Look, all I know is I got this glimpse of a man trying to steal away my twin.”

“How?” Kíli frowned ferociously and tapped the pommel of his reclaimed sword. “Something from your satyr heritage?”

Aleks waved the question off. “I’ll explain later. Now, do we--?”

“Is that Bofur?”

Kíli’s question had Aleks joining him in scanning the gate. _There._ He knew that hat, and the short stature confirmed it. Right behind him was a blond dwarf, one loaded with all kinds of blades.

_“Fíli!”_

Kíli was off like a shot, weaving in a stumbling lope towards his brother. Fíli startled before streaking towards them, his face raw and stark. Behind him, Bofur trudged towards them with a heavier gait. Aleks frowned. That was not the dwarf he knew. 

The brothers fell into each others’ arms, hugging each other with desperate relief. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” Fíli said, tears in his eyes. “What were you thinking, Kíli, to take on that orc alone?”

Aleks passed the two and walked on until he met Bofur. Now, Aleks felt like the crud on the bottom of a well-used boot. But Bofur? No smile. No spark of amusement to be found on his haggard face anywhere. He looked like he’d lost… 

“What happened?” Aleks demanded. “Has something happened to your brother? Your cousin? _Thorin?”_

Bofur’s face aged before his eyes. 

“Bofur?”

The toymaker’s eyes filled with a sheen of tears, his hands fisting and relaxing repetitively at his sides. “The lass, Aleks,” Bofur said in the most awfully hoarse voice. He took hold of Aleks by his shirt collar and slowly hauled him down to his level. Aleks winced at the abuse upon his wound, but the loss in Bofur’s eyes was like someone pressing a mute button. Words eluded him. 

“I failed you. It’s your twin, Aleks. We lost my lass.”

OoOoOo

A child’s high-pitched giggle penetrated the the fog shrouding me.

“Josan, what did your father say about disturbing our guest?” a woman scolded, her voice low. 

“Is she a dwarf, Aunt Freija?” A young boy’s voice, filled with excitement. “I thought lady dwarves had beards.” Disappointment.

“Well, the stories must not be true,” the woman returned sensibly. 

“And Papa fished her from the lake?” His voice hushed to the barest of whispers.

“Yes.”

“And hid her from the Master’s bullyboys.” The kid was proud as punch. Even in my groggy state, I picked up on that. 

“Yes, and hid her. Now off with you. Get back to your chores.” Small feet scampered away, a miniature roll of thunder across the wooden floor. 

_I miss being around kids._

Bit by bit, things came to me. I was dry. Warm. The scent of thyme filled the air - a cooking pot nearby? Sounds of family in the next room, laughter, teasing. It was only as I tried to move that my body’s condition became clear. Battered was too tame a word for the way every muscle group ached, and my head. It pounded like a solo percussionist trying to carry an entire marching band on his own.

_Aleks?_

Fear returned along with memory. Had all of the Company been attacked? _Bofur._ Urgency filled me. What had happened? I propped myself up on elbows, my breath hitching. I struggled to free myself from a blanket-turned-serpent’s grasp, ready to seek out the Company if I had to crawl on hands and knees, when a young woman entered the tiny room. 

“Oh.” The woman hurried to the side of the bed, adding her nimble fingers to the effort. “No, don’t— Yes, that way. You really should not be moving about, if I might say so.”

“My friends,” I panted, the effort to free myself leaving me wiped. I collapsed back against a crinkly pillow.

She reached over the bed to crack open the sole window’s shutters, allowing sunlight into the room. “You are lucky to be alive. And,” she stressed, “unencumbered.” Satisfied with the window, she retreated to a side table maybe six inches from the bed, shaking out articles of clothing with sharp snaps before folding them and setting them aside. 

Like most of the townsfolk, she was thin. Her hair was that rich dark brown that shamed chocolate, all coiled up in a neat braid atop her head. Dark eyes surveyed me with unabashed curiosity from within a face that was all sharp angles and impish humor. 

“Unencumbered?” Maybe I was worse off than I’d thought, for her reference baffled me.

“Unencumbered,” she reiterated, her thin brows arching. “You wear no braids.”

_And?_

“Are the tales not so?” she asked, pausing her task to lean towards me, placing one hand on the foot-board of the bed. “The stories say dwarf ladies wear braids to signify status - one for courtship, two for betrothal, and the third added at marriage. Are you married then?”

Where was this coming from? I mean, the braid thing sounded plausible given the dwarves’ reactions when Caranoran had tried to braid my hair, but… “Does it matter?”

A small frown crossed her lips, and her head tilted to one side. “You don’t appreciate the situation here at all, do you?” Before I could answer, she waved a jerky hand and returned to her laundry. “Traveling with a gaggle of men when a lady is not married to one of them, well, it isn’t done, do you understand? Put that to the side, and here you arrive with your fine king promising to reopen Erebor.”

I struggled to shove the pillow behind me against the headboard, sighing as I at last achieved an upright seat. “Mistress… I’m sorry, what is your name?”

She blushed bright red, and I made up my mind, pegging her as close to seventeen years old. Eighteen at the most. “Me and my manners. Forgive me, Lady. Freija, at your service.” A hesitant smile. “That is how one introduces herself, yes?”

“Among dwarves, very much so. But please, no ‘lady’. My name is Daph— Er, Daphne, at your service.”

“Daphne.” She beamed. “Well, you see,” she resumed, “you not being married and liable to become very wealthy once Erebor is reclaimed, you are considered quite a prize, no matter being a dwarf.” 

She set aside the overalls she’d been folding to place both hands on the foot-board. “And really, thought short, you are not unattractive, not by a man’s standard. The people here are poor. I’ve heard some of the more desperate residents whispering in the markets. How if a man might managed to…compromise…such a woman, the dwarves would be certain to insist her honor be restored by marriage.”

Say…what? Were they crazy? If I were a dwarf, the only thing a prospective groom might achieve was to lose that portion of his anatomy with which he’d hoped to claim his prize. Even should the guy succeed, I had a feeling – and not a little, tiny one – that the dwarves would not just frown upon such a dastardly deed, they’d outright kill the man who’d tried it. 

“Is that not so?” she broached. “Is it acceptable for dwarf women to travel with so many men as you do?”

_Aleks. Someone. Save me. Please._

“Freija, abducting anyone under a dwarf’s protection is probably the most suicidal thing I’ve ever heard contemplated. If a body is looking for a way out of this life, there are easier ways to go about it than enraging a pack of hot-tempered dwarves.” Then to her other question, “And my brother is part of the Company. I was not…” – frantic search for proper term – “unescorted.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened to dark saucers. “Which one?” A gasp. “It was the poor scholarly one that was assaulted on Center Walk, wasn’t it?” 

“Is he okay?” I leaned forward on one elbow. “Freija, how is Ori?”

“The town guard fished him out of the lake fast enough,” she reassured, reaching over to pat my hand. “So, he is your brother?”

“What? No, no. My brother was separated from the group the night before we arrived here. He’s missing.”

“But then…” She trailed off, her brow lined. 

“Then…?”

“Why would the others leave if one of their number was missing?”

OoOoOo

_“What?”_

Aleks heard his exclamation echoed by Kíli, the younger Durin looking in shock at Bofur. Kíli’s gaze flew to his brother. 

“Aye,” Fíli said, gripping his brother’s shoulder. “Two men attacked her while she was getting supplies with Ori.”

“Why?” Kíli burst. He gaze went from Fíli to Bofur and back again. “What could possibly compel two men to attack a female half their size?”

That was what Aleks wanted to know. “Where is Thorin?”

“He left,” Fíli said in voice filled with bitter disappointment and confusion. “The Master of Lake-town told us he’d located the two who attacked Daphne, and Ori confirmed it was them. The Master had them hanged and brought us the bodies.” Fíli alternately drew and resheathed one weapon three times in agitated precision. 

Aleks’s mind was reeling from the blows. Thorin gone? He’d left before Aleks and Kíli were safe? And Daphne - could he be wrong? Could she have died without Aleks knowing? 

_Not possible,_ every instinct growled in defiance. The satyr side remained confident. His twin lived. Where she was or how the dwarves had been convinced otherwise, he didn’t know. 

“Bofur,” he said with low fervor. The dwarf’s dulled eyes lifted to him. “We’re being played.” 

_Good._ The abject defeat pouring off the dwarf eased back as something flickered in those dark eyes. He had his attention. Fíli and Kíli, he wasn’t as concerned with at the moment. Bofur would hurt the most at the idea of Daph’s death. Aleks felt the satyr slip to the surface as his temper fired. Whoever had orchestrated this had not just attacked Daph and snatched her, he’d made sure no one would come looking. 

_Didn’t count on me, did you, loser?_

“Played?” Fíli demanded, his body going very still. 

Aleks’s gaze only flicked Fíli’s way before returning to Bofur. “Someone lied,” he told Bofur. “Because Daph isn’t dead. You see, someone went to a great deal of trouble to set the stage. If I was a betting man, I’d lay odds, however high you want to set, that no body was recovered. Am I right?”

Kíli looked confused and Fíli intent. Bofur began to straighten. “Aye,” Bofur said, drawing out the word. His brow adopted a crease above his nose. 

“Must have been a convincing show,” Aleks said. “Because I know you. You would not have given up unless it looked like all the cards were in. But Bofur, they made one critical mistake. They thought Daphne was either a dwarf or a very short woman.” A brittle pause, and Aleks’s lips curled up unpleasantly. “But she’s a naiad. Big mistake. _Big.”_

Spinning upon one heel, he began to stomp towards Lake-town.

“Aleks?” Kíli asked as heavier footsteps trailed behind him. 

A strong hand clamped about Aleks’s wrist and turned him about, the hold feeling as unbreakable as chains. Bofur stared up at him in silent demand. In the hardest voice he’d ever heard from the toymaker, Bofur asked, “Are ye sayin’ my Daphne lives? For certain?”

OoOoOo

Bofur did not realize he’d begun to shake the lad until the satyr took his shoulders in a hard clasp. Only then did Bofur note the white of Aleks’s skin and the pinch of his lips. Aleks was in pain, and here he was, shaking him.

 _Och, Bofur my lad, that was not well done of you._ He’d promised the lass’s shade, he had, that he’d see her brother protected, and here he was hurting him. What would the lass have to say about that? His hands dropped from the lad as if scalded.

“No, don’t apologize,” Aleks told him. “No apologies between brothers.” 

The label was an arrow through the chest. She was gone, slipping through his fingers whilst he’d bided his time…except the lad implied otherwise, as unbelievable as it seemed. 

“She’s alive, Bofur. When I said their mistake was not knowing what she was, I meant it. Look, there’s a lot about naiads you don’t know yet. I told you the most important bits when we met, but some of it didn’t really matter at the time. Daph and I weren’t even speaking, and when we were, things were still messed up.”

Aleks’s gaze turned to the Durins, including them. “So, naiad basics in a snapshot: our people have twins. Always. One boy, a satyr. One girl, the dryad. The only time that doesn’t hold true is if one baby dies in the womb. You with me so far?”

Kíli and Fíli nodded, but Bofur felt his throat tightening. He could not lose her again. If she’d been alive all this while and was injured or slain because they did not find her in time, he’d not recover. 

Aleks’s green eyes, their shade the very match of Bofur’s lass’s, burned down at him. “We are linked at birth. Unless something happens to damage that bond, naiad twins can speak mind-to-mind. Distance isn’t a huge factor. If my bond with Daph was whole and healthy, I could be in Rivendell and call for her in my mind…and she’d hear me _even if she was in Erebor.”_

“You can speak with her?” Kíli burst in.

But Bofur had caught the gist, and his mind froze upon Aleks’s meaning. _She lives._ Certainty. He grabbed hold of that like Smaug with Erebor’s gold. _Alive._ Relief was quickly followed by fear and anger. As Aleks had said, something or someone had squirreled her away, hiding her from him. Bofur’s gaze narrowed on the town of men. _I’ll be finding you, my wee lass. Count on it._ If he had to tear the town apart, plank by plank, then that is what he’d do. 

“Not reliably,” Aleks was saying. “I saw through her eyes when the lowlifes grabbed her. I haven’t heard anything since, but our connection has restored enough – it doesn’t matter how it was broken _now,_ Kíli – but I’d know. Get it? She’s alive.”

“Then we will find her,” Fíli said in a low voice, one both commanding and assured. He sounded so much like Thorin that Bofur checked himself. Aye, and he’d be making a fine king when his turn came, their Fíli. A king Bofur would serve as freely as he did the uncle. 

“Can you find her, Aleks?” Bofur asked. 

She lived. _Ye waited too long, Bofur my lad._ She’d sought him out right frequently, and the small touches he’d initiated had all been welcomed. ‘twas time to make his case. He wanted her safe by his side where he could keep an eye on her. The lass was made to be cherished by a dwarf, aye she was. 

He immediately corrected himself. Not just any dwarf. Him. 

Bofur inspected the lad’s face. Aye, Aleks could find her. Before the lad spoke aloud, the answer was there upon his face. 

_The lad has grown. He’s earned his warrior braids, if I’m any judge._

“Yes,” Aleks told him with a cold little smile. “Yes, I can find her.”

OoOoOo

“They left?”

No way was this happening. They couldn’t have just…left. Maybe Thorin if he was losing himself to gold-lust, but Bofur? Bombur and Bifur? 

Freija shook out another worn nightgown and bobbed her head, her young face wreathed with sympathy. “After the Master ordered the two men who assaulted you hanged in punishment.”

_Hanged?_

“It did little to appease the fury of the dwarf king. When the deed was done, someone found the shredded remains of your dress in the water wheel and…” She busied herself folding the formless gown, her hands jerky. “Well, you see, Jarel – he’s the one who found you – he knew those men were lackeys belonging to the Master and his senior henchmen. You wouldn’t be safe unless they thought…”

“I was dead,” I said a bit numbly. 

“Exactly,” she said, satisfied. Her movements returned to their graceful efficiency as she set aside the folded gown and fished a tunic out of the laundry pile and set to work on it. “Safer for the dwarves, too,” she said. 

Safer, but if they’d left thinking me dead… 

“Two of them did remain behind.” She leaned close again. “I heard that the Master promptly booted them out of the chancellor’s estate the minute their king was gone.”

“Who?” I demanded. “Who remained behind?”

She gave me an uncertain smile, scratching her nose. “I have not had the pleasure of an introduction. One is a young one--”

“Fíli,” I said, no doubt in my mind. “He wouldn’t budge from here without proof of Kíli’s fate.”

“The other is older. The one who wears the strange hat.”

_Bofur._ “You have to tell him I’m alive,” I said, almost pouncing upon her as I scrambled across the bed. “Can you send him a message?”

She sighed and seated herself next to me on the mattress. “Forgive me for asking, but can they be discreet?”

Bofur and Fíli? At first glance, most would be jumping up and down, hands waving in the air to say, _No way,_ where Bofur was concerned. I’d noticed, however, that while he was chattering away, joking and being silly, he never betrayed anything of substance. For such a chatterbox, he was amazingly private. 

My answer didn’t hold a shred of doubt. “You can trust them.”

Freija nodded once and rose to her feet with a smoothness that reminded me of Caranoran and his people. A brief thought - was my favorite foster brother safe or had he, too, fallen prey to Thranduil’s paranoia?

“Very well then.” She tapped one slim finger against her lips, eyes on the ceiling. “Jarel already came into suspicion for being in the vicinity when you vanished. It wouldn’t do to bring our family into notice.” A sly, satisfied smile. “I believe I have the answer.”

OoOoOo

Aleks sat upon a dock crowded with fishermen of all ages, stringing up a makeshift pole of his own using the supplies in his duffle. His animal spies had been sent off - rats, mostly, but also gulls, cats, and the occasional dog.

It was Bofur who pointed out the need to not draw any more attention than necessary. If Daph’s abductors knew they were onto them, they might flee before he could root them out. The dwarves couldn’t blend in, so they _were_ noticed, but given the dramatic scene Fíli had described in which the Master had evicted the two dwarves earlier, it wasn’t unreasonable that they’d have to fend for themselves in the food department, too.

So, fishing. 

The four of them sat in a row, the humans giving them a wide berth despite the jammed conditions along the rest of the dock. 

“D’ye think we smell?” Bofur jested, his good humor and smile a front. The dwarf fairly reeked of threat, hence the wide berth the men gave them. 

“They’re afraid to be seen with us after the Master’s performance,” Fíli pronounced with gravity. “How can that man live with himself? His people are terrified of him.” Contempt dripped from his words.

Aleks couldn’t have said it better himself. The Master here reminded him of the worst kind of dictator. Made him wonder if there was any way they could orchestrate events so that Smaug would have a nice, fat meal before being shot down.

Though to be fair, some of the fear their small party detected might have been due to the anger all four of them radiated.

A little girl came skipping down the boardwalk in their direction, a big flower held in one hand. She made a show of heading right for Fíli and Bofur as she frowned at Kíli and Aleks. 

“Go away,” she told them. 

Aleks almost choked on a laugh. She really did look cross at the two of them, though he had no idea what he might have done to land on her bad side. 

_“Och,_ wee lassie, is that any way to speak to the injured?” Bofur asked with a wink and smile. There was not a trace of the menace of just seconds before.

Like magic, her frown disappeared, and she sidled closer to the toymaker. “But I’ve gots to talk to _you,”_ she said. “Or him.” A pout as she turned to Fíli.

_“Weeell,”_ Bofur drew out, “if you’ve gots to, then you’ve gots to.” A private wink to Aleks as he crooked a finger and led the little girl a few paces away. 

The little blond girl thrust the flower at Bofur, almost shoving it up his nose in her haste, and Aleks again chortled under his breath. 

“We’re sorry about your lady,” she said. 

Humor bled from Aleks, replaced by gratitude. This kid had to be the first person to genuinely express sympathy in a real way. Oh, the Master had waxed eloquent about the “tragedy” – or so Fíli had told him – but it hadn’t held a pinch of sincerity to the two dwarves who’d been present. 

Bofur accepted the flower with a deep bow, squatting down to thank her. 

That’s when Aleks caught her next, soft words. “The lady says you should come get her. Men are watching the house, so you gots to sneak in tonight.”


	37. Fanfiction

### Chapter 36

I wriggled on the lumpy, cattail cushion situated on the floor beside young Josan. The kid was adorable, his eyes wide as he peppered me with all kinds of Serious Questions about dwarves. Half of them were all kinds of hilarious - one being Gimli’s lamented rumor that dwarves sprang up from the ground full-grown. That I was supposed to be the expert here was none-too-easy. 

My gaze kept turning towards the window, judging the sun’s passage across the sky. These folks were nice, but I wanted Bofur here. I needed to see for myself that he and Fíli were alright. 

A rap on the window. 

The family tensed. Jarel, the man of the house, blew out a large breath and rose to his feet. I sidled out of view at his jerk of the head. If it _wasn’t_ the guys at the shutter, announcing myself to all and sundry after all Jarel’s efforts would be beyond rude. 

The instant the shutter was open, Aleks slithered in. Jarel protested - he hadn’t had a chance to question the “intruder” before he was in the room with his family. Jarel’s head zoomed towards me.

“My brother,” I assured him, trying to move my legs under me to rise. Relief brought tears to my eyes. I’m guessing Aleks felt the same, because he helped me stand and enfolded me in a gentle embrace. 

“Are you okay?” he asked roughly.

My laugh was on the watery side. “Me? What about you? Dear heavens, Aleks, _Bolg?_ What were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

With zero warning, I was almost ripped from Aleks’s arms and smothered against a broader chest and a familiar-looking coat. The scents of pipe smoke and wood dust wafted over me, the aroma strongest within his coat. _Bofur._ He said not a word – shocking given his usual vociferousness. He just held me tight with no seeming intention of letting me go anytime soon. The strength of his response stunned me. I’d known that he cared, but I hadn’t realized how deeply that went. 

My arms tightened around him in response. “You didn’t leave,” I whispered in a choppy voice. “You didn’t leave with the Company.”

The bristles of his mustache teased my cheek as he took a tremulous inhale. He lifted me off my feet, squeezing even tighter until I gasped, “Bofur.”

The embrace gentled and concerned brown-green eyes swam into view. He supported my weight with one arm as his other hand pressed to my cheek, rough, work-hardened skin partially covered by fingerless wool gloves. “Did they hurt you, my Daphne? Are you well?”

I managed a wobbly smile. “I am now.” I hugged him again, chin on his shoulder, and transferred that smile to the last two of our party. “Kíli, I’m glad you’re okay.” Though to be frank, the dark-haired Durin looked horrible.

He attempted his trademark, flirty smile, and Fíli inclined his head in greeting. I returned my head to the crook of Bofur’s neck and inhaled. Contentment filled me as fear’s icy fingers finally let go of my belly. They were here. They were safe.

Fíli broke the silence, introducing himself and the rest of the party to my hosts. I stayed where I was, letting him handle it. 

“Um, Daph?”

I relinquished my hold upon Bofur reluctantly, and I fancied he felt the same way. Turning to Aleks, I finally noted the blood staining his side. “Oh, Aleks,” I hissed between my teeth, beside him in a flash - okay, not really, not with my own stiffened muscles and aching joints. But I was there as fast as I could hobble, Bofur shadowing me. 

“Did you bring--?” I began, only to see the duffle at his feet. 

“Where are your supplies?” Aleks asked as I begged Freija’s sister – the sweetest, round faced woman I’d ever met – for a stool with a gesture. Hydi brought me the stool with a smile, and I pressed Aleks to a seat, my hands tackling the filthy bandage he’d slapped together. 

Lowering myself to my knees hurt like mad, but I managed without betraying my own discomfort. I busied myself with unwrapping Aleks from the topmost layer of bandaging as I answered, “I lost it.”

“Lost it?” Immediately, “I’m sorry, Daph.” He groaned. “We lost both mp3 players.”

“Trust me, I know.” I shook my head.

His body language changed. In a different voice, “You had _Amma’s_ seeds in there, didn’t you?” 

No question, just empathy for the loss. I shrugged, determined not to waste time on grief for _seeds,_ for crying out loud. “They’re things, Aleks.” A clobbered-together smile. “You and these guys are worth a million of them.”

“What’s this about seeds?” Bofur asked, squatting by my side with elbows on knees. 

Aleks began to answer, so I set myself to finding his first-aid kit and retrieving the vials I was after. Hydi shoved clean bandages into my hands before I could ask for them. I smiled in thanks. Knowing where Aleks’s bag had been, I next checked the medicinals for signs of tampering, sniffing and putting a pinch of those I intended to use upon my tongue. 

“Dryads pass down seeds from generation to generation,” Aleks explained, “refining strains and adding traits they’re after. Our mother had this line of roses that couldn’t be beat for medicinal uses. _Appa_ was always bragging about that, how she had a knack for melding the beautiful with the functional. Seeds are kind of a birthright. It’s tradition.”

By this time, I’d unraveled the final layer of swaddling over his injury and blanched. My lips compressed. _For this, Bolg, I’ll hunt you down myself._

The wound hadn’t been cleaned properly, that was evident straight off. Already, there was the faintest putrid aroma emanating from it. I poked at it with gentle fingers, grimacing when he flinched, and the blood which seeped from it began to flow freely in that one spot. 

“Daph,” Aleks grunted. 

“Hush,” I told him. “You fought Bolg, Aleks. _Bolg._ What were you thinking?” 

“Keeping my head attached to my body,” Aleks said in exasperation. “What did you expect me to do? Ward off his attacks with some zen yoga?”

I grumbled under my breath, unhappy, unformed sounds. Hydi appeared by my side and tried to pass me a hot pan of water, but Bofur intervened, collecting the steaming metal container himself and setting it down at my side with a dark, leery look. 

“It’s fine,” I whispered to him. “I’ll be careful.” I dumped my antibacterial powder into the water, then wet one piece of cloth to use for cleaning. I wrung it out gingerly, tossing it from hand to hand to keep from scalding my fingers. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the gash on _your_ head, Kíli,” I remarked as I set the hot cloth against Aleks’s skin when I deemed it cooled enough.

Aleks hissed. I persisted. 

“Yes, Mistress,” Kíli answered.

Why did he sound so pleased? _Men._ Bah. 

While I worked, Jarel and Hydi’s family fed the others. The couple chatted with Fíli and Kíli as young Josan pestered Bofur for stories. How the tyke arrowed in upon him, I wasn’t altogether certain – maybe Bofur had been making faces at him like I’d caught him doing with Estel a time or two – but the kid sat enraptured the entire time while Bofur handed me vials and supplies as I needed them. Distracted as I was, I still loved watching him with the child. Call me a sappy female, but it tugged on all of my heart strings.

The highlight of the night, though, was the way Aleks almost toppled from the stool when Freija walked through the door. My twin’s eyes widened, and his jaw unhinged just the tiniest bit as she curtsied prettily and introduced herself to the group. 

The goof tried to bow as he instantly responded with, “Aleks Hunt, at _your_ service.” Whether that emphasis was intended or not, it was there for all to hear. 

Did Aleks realize what he’d done? Somehow, I thought not. I caught the corner of Bofur’s eye and had to swallow back giggles. 

Bofur sewed my brother up when the wound was finally cleaned to my satisfaction. I couldn’t do it - the supplies I’d had, the non-metallic sort, were gone. Without my gloves, picking up a needle wasn’t going to happen.

Once Aleks was bandaged up, Kíli claimed his spot with a lopsided grin. Funny, though, where back in Rivendell that smile might have caused me all sorts of mortified stammering and blushing, it really didn’t faze me at all. Maybe I was just too tired.

“Daphne, why don’t you tell us some tales from your lands?” Kíli asked as Bofur aided me to my feet so that I might assess Kíli’s head wound. 

“Your lands?” Jarel piped up. The blond-haired ferryman leaned back upon his wooden chair, his feet crossed upon a wood stump serving as a footrest. “You are not from the same place?”

“The young man spoke of dryads. Is that another clan of dwarves?” Hydi ventured to ask in her soft voice. 

I jumped in before Aleks could. Should we be telling all and sundry that we weren’t dwarves? That was a question I intended to hash out with the guys later in private. 

Along with minor things like, oh, the fact that we were not with Bard and his family, and how long we had until Smaug razed the place to the ground. 

“The dwarves from Erebor have been living in Thorin’s Hall in Ered Luin,” I told them as I probed Kíli’s head. I’d seen the hard hit Kíli had sustained, and even now, he seemed less than steady on his feet. I ran gentle fingers across his brow and then around his skull, searching for damage. “Aleks and I are from further afield.”

“They have the strangest of stories,” Kíli proclaimed.

“What kind?” young Josan asked. The curly-haired boy had migrated to his mother’s lap, a cherub’s innocent mischief stamped across his face. His legs kicked back and forth from his perch, swinging nonstop. 

“They have all kinds of stories about the dwarves of Erebor,” Bofur offered with a gleam in his eye. “That’s why they came seeking us, see?”

_“Bofur.”_ I raised a brow at him. He winked back, leaning forward to tug on a lock of my hair. 

“They were much taken with us,” Fíli added from his cross-legged seat on the floor. With a big grin on his face, Fíli was the image of tired contentment. 

“Oh, aye. Fair trailed after us like wee puppies, they did,” Bofur contributed.

Josan laughed into his small, cupped hands as I swatted Bofur on the arm. “Imp.” And earned another of Bofur’s winks. _He is in high humor, isn’t he?_

“Tell me a story about the dwarves,” Josan begged. 

This was all Kíli’s fault. Seeing an opportunity for revenge, I dove right in. “Well, you see, the dwarves were very famous back home.”

“Because of Erebor?” Freija asked as she collected Fíli and Kíli’s emptied plates. Aleks hastened to carry them for her to the small cupboard that was pretty much the entirety of the kitchen. A delighted smile danced upon the dark-haired woman’s lips as she followed him. 

“In part,” I allowed. “Losing their home that way and then rebuilding in the Blue Mountains is a rather inspiring story.”

Hydi’s husband, Jarel, nodded. His elbow came to rest upon his chair’s bare wooden arm, his hand cupping his chin. Unlike Aleks and Fíli, his beard was short, trimmed. More, I thought with a spurt of amusement, like poor Kíli’s. “A tale of endurance and fortitude.”

“Is that what you believe, lass?” Bofur asked in an undertone as I located what I was after: a tender spot upon Kíli’s skull. I didn’t like the feel of that. If he wasn’t concussed – and really, he’d been without treatment for a day at least, so I supposed he was out of danger on that front – he had to be in considerable pain. Kíli winced as I mapped out the extent of the damage with soft fingertips, but he said nothing. I got the impression he was making sure I was witnessing just how tough he was. 

All of a sudden, he reminded me of Ori: _cute!_

“Of course,” I told Bofur, nonplussed at his intent expression. 

I found myself captivated by the brown-green of his eyes. Houseleek. Why had I never before noticed how much his eyes brought to mind that plant? I stared at them, entranced. A blush began to steel up my cheeks but I was unable to look away. A wry thought: houseleek was totally Bofur, though I imagined its name wouldn’t sound flattering if I mentioned it. As legend had it, the plant was a gift from Jupiter for protection, and in the language of flowers it represented vivacity and industry. 

And I was staring like an idiot! Knowing I had to be fire-engine red, I tore my gaze away and coughed into one hand, turning brusque. “Bofur, you guys lost everything. You basically hiked across Middle Earth with nothing but what you could carry. You built yourselves a new home with your bare hands. Yeah, I feel the same.”

“It’s freaking impressive,” Aleks chimed in.

“Freaking?” more than one person asked. 

I almost said a quick hallelujah as all attention zoomed to Aleks. Well, all but Bofur’s. I could feel his gaze on me, and I spotted a small smile dancing upon his lips out of the corner of my eye. 

“Um,” Aleks said, sounding panicked. My gaze turned to my brother, and I frowned at him good. If he dared explain what that gem replaced, I _would_ clobber him. 

“Uh. Well.” He cleared his throat, his eyes rushing to me and begging, really _begging,_ for a save. 

“It’s an expression from our home,” I said with an inward sigh. Watching him writhe on the hook would’ve been fun, but not when he was all puppy-dog eyes. “It is intended to mean a superlative. An extreme of what it’s describing.”

Aleks sagged as he received nods all around.

I returned to my narrative. “As for stories, since the dwarves of Erebor were famous in our lands, there were quite a few made up in addition to the real ones.”

“Untrue stories?” Hydi asked with surprise.

Well, yeah. I supposed, knowing what I knew now, that making up stories about real people was a bit rude. But how were we to know? And some of those stories were my all-time favorites! Not that I’d ever breathe a word to Haldir if I ever met him, but Elfine’s _Warriors Proud_ rocked. I’d come away from that one wanting to cheer. 

“They’re called fanfics,” Aleks said with a drawl, a slow smile spreading over his lips. He knew exactly what I’d been referring to. “People write their own stories, all fiction, and swap them for fun.” His gaze darted to me. “Seriously. There are fanfics about these guys?”

My own lips twitched, and Bofur’s right elbow nudged me, demanding an answer. “They number in the tens of thousands,” I informed them.

Fíli’s brow furrowed. “There are stories about _us_ by these people?” he asked, looking disconcerted. “Though we’ve not met?”

Bofur began to chuckle, grinning widely. 

“Well, you _are_ the heir, Fíli,” I said.

“What about me?” Kíli asked with that infectious smile. “Did they write about me?”

Aleks’s head tilted to the side. “They did, didn’t they?” he asked. “And I’ll bet they had a ton of stories about Legolas, too.”

“The Legomances outnumber any other kind by leaps and bounds,” I said lightly. 

Aleks snickered. 

“That elf?” Kíli asked, brows rising. He winced but tried to hide it as I dabbed cream on the gash across his forehead. “What is a…” Brief pause. “Lego-mance?”

Pursuing this topic had been a bad idea, no doubt about it. I could feel my cheeks heating once again, and Bofur’s gaze was a tangible thing. Why was I so hyper-aware of him all of a sudden? _Sheesh, Daph, get it together._ I busied myself with placing gauze over Kíli’s wound, fixing it into place with Aleks’s roll of first-aid tape. When Bofur bent closer to see what I was using, I broke off a tab and plunked it onto his nose. 

The look I got in return warmed me even as it warned of retribution. Given he sported a wicked grin, I decided not to worry. He removed the tape and turned it this way and that in interest.

“A Legomance,” I answered, tearing my gaze from the toymaker, “is a romantic tale featuring Prince Legolas and a female of the author’s creation. Usually an elf, but sometimes a woman.”

“A romance?” Kíli repeated. “With an elf?”

I beamed at him. “You should read the ones about your uncle.”

Fíli spewed the ale he’d been swallowing, and Kíli would have fallen over but for Bofur’s swift grab. Aleks roared with laughter, holding his belly with a pained expression. Seeing the Durin brothers’ horrified faces, he laughed all the harder.

“Daph,” Aleks gasped. “Stop. That can’t be true.”

I patted Kíli on the shoulder, signaling I was done, and let Bofur urge me to a seat on the floor before handing me my own meal. “It’s true,” I said, noting with relief the wooden spoon tucked into my soup bowl. “Face it, women find the idea of a whirlwind romance with royalty riveting.”

“Oh?” Kíli asked. 

Bofur’s eyes narrowed. “Aye?”

I pointed my spoon at the toymaker. “It’s a story, Bofur. It is meant to be fantastical.”

His only response was a quirk of the lips.

“Then what about me?” Fíli asked. He pulled a knife from its sheath and spun it around on its hilt with one finger before re-sheathing it. “Dare I ask what types of stories include me?”

“What are they like?” Kíli pounced, leaning forward upon the stool to plant elbows upon his knees. Our hosts watched with avid interest, amused based upon the smiles they shared. 

“Noble,” I said after savoring a bite of the meal Hydi had prepared. My own portion had cooled considerably, but it was still tasty. “They did a good job capturing you. Most portray you sympathetically - not perfect, but ready to shoulder responsibility. You act when you see a need to intervene, and your affection for your brother is legendary.”

“No romances?” Kíli asked, tossing a sympathetic yet gloating grin over his shoulder at his brother. 

“Oh, yes,” I said before he could goad his brother. “Some of the best ones.” 

Fíli smirked. Kíli frowned. 

“What about me, then? I’m sure there are dozens of stories about me.” Out flashed the charming grin followed by the wink. 

The flirt. “Well, there was the one about you and a wolf.”

Bofur rolled onto his back, laughing, as Kíli’s jaw dropped. I sniggered into my food. Okay, so it hadn’t been a _wolf,_ exactly, but putting it that way? Priceless.

When he wound down, Bofur must have taken pity on Kíli because with a sly smile, he said, all casual-like, “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, my lad. You should hear the two sing.”

It was Aleks’s turn to react, coughing as he swallowed wrong on nothing. My hands froze, spoon an inch from my lips. I should have known Bofur wouldn’t be able to leave that one alone. 

“What was it you sang about so sweetly?” he asked as if blind to Aleks’s panic-stricken flapping of hands. “Oh, aye, walking like a man.”

“What is this?” Fíli asked, smiling so broadly I feared his cheeks would crack. “They sang?”

“In the Elvenking’s Halls,” Bofur confirmed. “Here we were, my cousin, Bilbo and me,” he clarified for the human audience, “thinking we’d be rescuing our twins, only to find them singing along without a care in the world.” In a stage whisper to five-year-old Josan, “Singing as to wake the dead, I’ll tell you.” 

Josan found that hilarious. His parents and aunt both laughed along, their curiosity pricked if I was any judge.

OoOoOo

That was it. The dwarf was going _down._

Aleks glared at Bofur, but the dwarf pretended not to see it. Daph had turned beet-red, her lips curved into a grin. Aleks decided to nip this one in the bud _now._

“Singing? Us? You must be mistaken,” he drawled, tsking under his breath. “Hearing things in your advanced age, are we?”

Daph hooted. Bofur threw her an amused glance. 

“Is there a different way for men to walk?” Aleks continued as if posing a hypothetical question. 

Daphne backed him up. For a second, he wasn’t sure she would. “Since it’s Bofur’s song, maybe he can demonstrate,” she suggested, only to peel into laughter as the dwarf in question tickled her under the ribs, steadying her when she showed signs of discomfort at moving. She wriggled away from his fingers. Tears leaked down her cheeks, she laughed so hard. 

_He’s perfect for her._ Not only had Kíli’s blatant flirting not moved her, but Aleks wasn’t positive she’d even noticed. She’d sure seemed content to stay in Bofur’s arms earlier, though. 

Aleks found Freija trying to suppress a grin, her brown eyes dancing with mirth. It was hard just to look at her. He was blown away by the way he kept wanting to stammer and stare. _Get a grip, Hunt. She’s just another girl._ Pretty - okay, that was an understatement. But…dude. He was going to make a fool of himself if he didn’t get a grip. 

“You’ll be telling our hosts the truth, my lass,” Bofur insisted, lifting threatening fingers. What he didn’t notice was the way both Kíli and Fíli stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. 

_Secret’s out now, my friend._

“All right! All right!” Daph held up both hands in a classic “T”. “You win.”

Facing the inevitable, Aleks told Freija - and her family - “I was trying to keep us both awake.” Head nod to his sister. “Daph especially. We’d been dumped into this well with freezing water--”

The women gasped, hands to lips, and Jarel’s head jerked back in surprise. “Who would do such a thing?” the man asked.

Daph sighed, losing some humor. “It’s a long, convoluted story. Aleks got the bright idea that singing would keep us awake.”

“Which it did,” Aleks added with a smirk.

“Which it did,” she agreed. “The song Bofur overheard,” she continued, flicking a finger against the dwarf’s arm, “is…” A small frown as she hesitated.

“Silly,” Aleks offered. “It’s what we would call an ‘Oldie’ from our grandparents’ day. Our father loved that kind of music.”

“’twas silly, right enough,” Bofur said, capturing Daph’s hand in his. 

“Can I hear it?” Josan asked, jumping up and down from his seat on his mother’s lap. 

_I knew it._ Aleks longed to groan, but at the same time, this was more fun than he’d had in weeks. The stress of worrying about the Durins, the evil Ring, and merely surviving had been hard. Daph needed this break, too, he thought, knowing she had to be hurting by the way she moved gingerly. She probably ached as much as he and Kíli. 

This? This was normal - hanging with new friends, eating good food and swapping jokes. _Tomorrow._ They’d worry about Smaug – a sudden new fear reared its head as he realized the danger to this family – tomorrow. _I’ll make sure they’re safe,_ Aleks swore to himself. 

Jarel was a ferryman. How they’d coach the story, Aleks wasn’t sure, but if they prepped Jarel, he could get a lot of the people in Lake-town out of harm’s way before Smaug could incinerate them. 

“That’s your cue, Daph,” Aleks said, readily throwing her under the bus. The way he saw it, she’d started this whole thing. Plus, her voice might not be perfect, but it was pleasant enough. The same couldn’t be said for his. “How about something kid-friendly?”  
His follow-up barely made it in time to derail her from arguing about who should take up the challenge. 

“Kid-friendly?” Her lower lip disappeared into her mouth, and her head bowed.

“Kid-friendly?” Hydi asked hesitantly. 

The woman sure reminded Aleks of a flower - pretty, sweet, but very easily bruised or crushed. He found himself responding just like Hydi’s family, careful not to do anything that could be misinterpreted. If he was reading them right, the dwarves were feeling the same way: protective. 

“Child-friendly,” Aleks clarified. “There were songs back home written and performed just for children.”

“You call your children ‘young goats’?” Freija teased, her pointed chin quivering with laughter threatening to burst forth. 

_Aw, man._ She had dimples. Totally unfair. 

“We call our lady loves ‘baby’ so why not?” he asked with a smile of his own. 

_“Baby?”_ more than one person asked. 

“Don’t ask,” Daphne counseled. 

Jarel’s chin found his fist again as he leaned against the arm of his ramshackle chair with a grin. “I really must fish more ladies in distress out of the lake. You lot are worth your weight in entertainment.”

Daph scrunched her nose. Aleks laughed. “Don’t be too sure about that,” Aleks warned. “Dwarves are _heavy.”_ He had to dodge when Kíli tossed an apple at him. 

Grinning, Aleks turned back to his sister. “You could do _Pooh Corner,”_ he suggested to his twin as her changing facial expressions told him she was having difficulty landing on one. Too late, he realized how much would be unfathomable to their audience. So many of their songs were riddled with references no one here would get, like _Still Alive_ when he’d played it for the Company. They’d had no clue the voice was supposed to be a homicidal AI. And how would he ever have been able to explain it? 

She wrinkled her nose again and shook her head. “Unless you want to tell the story behind it first, I think that’s a no-go.”

Fair enough. _“The Last Unicorn?”_

She rolled her eyes. Their audience was finding this, too, amusing. “Depressing.”

“You loved that story.” She’d discovered it on cable around their fifth or sixth birthday, and it had been _The Last Unicorn_ night and day. He’d grown to loathe that movie. 

“Still depressing.”

“A child’s tale?” Fíli asked, brows high. 

She waved a hand. “The story itself is not bad, but the song Aleks is talking about is…sad. No sad tonight.”

Bofur tugged on a lock of her hair. “The song you sang in the well was fair enough.”

“That’s it,” Aleks said in a mock growl. “The instant you fall asleep tonight, I am shaving off your beard.”

One would have thought he’d threatened their masculinity, the way the dwarves reacted. “Now that was uncalled for,” Fíli protested. Aleks thought at first they were joking around, but his certainty wilted and died as he got a load of their absolute affront.

He’d made a huge faux pas, hadn’t he? “I take it I just mortally offended the three of you,” he sighed, rubbing one brow. “I meant to tease, not offend.”

Bofur shook his head with mock sorrow, his eyes dancing. “You cannot go making threats like that, Aleks.”

Apparently not. Eager to divert attention, he returned to his sister and found her giving him a sympathetic look. She tapped her chest and lifted one hand. _So she’s stepped in it, too, at some point._

“There has to be something from one of your musicals,” he said. Daphne’s expression transformed to one of warning.

“Musicals?” Kíli asked.

Too late, he realized this could end with a demand for himself and Daph to _perform one._ Their eyes locked. 

In desperation, Aleks began the opening refrain to _Swinging on a Star._ As before, it brought _Appa_ to mind. Aleks almost felt like his father might be looking on from above, grinning his big grin. 

It amazed him how fast it became fun. They bounced the old 40’s song back and forth, Aleks opening and Daph taking the first verse. She totally hammed it up, using body-language to describe a mule. The kid, Josan, loved it, so when she sang the chorus asked Josan if he’d rather be a pig, Aleks picked up the ball and ran with it. 

By the end, he was totally into it, spreading arms in dramatic emphasis as they sang the ending lines. 

It was a good, good day.


	38. Developments

### Chapter 37

“Crown Prince.”

Gellamon permitted himself the smallest of smiles as he turned towards his youngest brother. “Prince Caranoran.” So formal, but such was life in the Elvenking’s Halls since the Dark Lord’s intrusion. Any lapse brought on the bulk of the Elvenking’s ire.

“It is done.”

 _Ah, my gwanur, you do not enjoy the role you are forced to play._ Intrigue had ever been a part of the Elvenking’s Court – how not? – but it had been confined until the present to bickering nobles jockeying for his father’s favor. Never before had it existed amongst the family or their Guards, either Elven or Royal. Caranoran was young. Not naive – their _adar_ would never tolerate such a weakness in his children – but idealistic. Clandestine meetings in the middle of the night did not suit the youngest of Thranduil’s get.

“Good. Our captains failed in their duties. When Legolas returns, he will be apprised of the new situation. It will fall to him to command the Elven Guard in Tauriel’s stead,” Gellamon said.

“What of Badhron’s position?” his brother asked with forced nonchalance. 

“That is for the Elvenking to determine,” he said, though in reality, Gellamon had already taken steps to ensure Badhron remained the power behind the Royal Guards. Any declared change of leadership of that body would be in name only. They could ill afford the upheaval now, not on top of the Elvenking’s diminishing reign. 

Tauriel, however, was another matter. The Elvenking had stripped her not only of all rank but also any role in the Elven Guard. She’d come breathtakingly close to a new home in the same pit that Hwinneth had barely survived.

Mistakes. Costly mistakes from the Elvenking, proof that the Dark Lord’s continual assault was destroying their sovereign before their eyes. 

Gellamon would not allow that to happen. “Hwinneth?”

Caranoran’s dark green and blue eyes flashed. No, his brother was most certainly not happy. He’d grown fond of the naiad, and truth be told, Gellamon had found her to be acceptable. While the heir was not pleased with his father’s attachment to her, he wished her no ill. He simply did not like the end that affection for a mortal would inevitably bring. He hated to think of the grief waiting for his father and brothers because of her.

Gellamon was only too happy the Royal Guards in question had allowed for her escape. The dwarves may have thought their escape a product of their own efforts, but he knew otherwise. They’d been aided each step of the way, up to and including the two guards allowing themselves to be overcome at the pit. Gellamon knew his family would have borne scars, his _adar_ most deeply, had Hwinneth perished in the frigid waters. His _adar_ had punished the Royal Guards charged with her care, but Gellamon had moved to see them rewarded. 

“No sign of her.”

 _Control your face,_ he willed his brother. With their _adar_ so crazed, to show any kindly feelings for the naiad now would be viewed with suspicion. 

“She must be returned to the Elvenking’s care,” Gellamon instructed. “See to it that Tauriel is informed that locating and returning Hwinneth would be an ideal way to prove her competence and loyalty to her king. Hwinneth is to be returned whole…but if she is not unscathed, one cannot fault events from punishing her disloyalty.”

Confusion appeared in Caranoran’s eyes. Gellamon hoped none but he could see it. 

“Such betrayal does come with a price,” Gellamon continued without emphasis, hoping his younger brother would pick up his cues.

Caranoran bowed. “As you say.”

Gellamon prayed that would suffice. He cocked his head to the side, listening to both the trees and the almost imperceptible pad of footsteps retreating. _At last._ He relaxed. “He is gone.”

Caranoran glanced down at him, then at the surrounding courtyard, and then once again back to him. “He was here?”

“He was here.” Gellamon shook his head. _“Ada_ would never have been so sloppy as to be detected. Nor would he have believed what he just heard. The Dark Lord’s machinations dull his wits as they sharpen his temper.”

Caranoran’s silvery head of hair fanned out as he turned jerkily and stalked away. “You should have told me.”

“You should have known,” he rebuked gently. “The situation grows more perilous, _Gwanur._ We cannot afford _Ada_ to be destroyed.”

“Hwinneth lost her abilities.”

“So I have been informed. Valar grant it is not so, for without intervention, I fear _Adar_ will be lost to us forever.”

OoOoOo

Thranduil prowled away from the courtyard, thoughts churning. He did not know his head undulated back and forth as a serpent’s might, nor was he aware of the low stream of sibilant, disjointed words falling from his lips. Guards marked his progress with fearful caution, each appalled at the deterioration of their beloved protector and ruler.

 _She plots against me. Knows the future and twists it to her purposes. Chances are, she knows where the Ring might be found. She will seek it and claim it for herself._ The thought slipped out unnoticed by the besieged king…

…but not by the ever-present voice. 

It vanished. Between one insidious whisper and the anticipated next, the voice was gone, leaving Thranduil alone in his mind for the first time in…weeks? Months?

He fell to his knees, his mind at first sluggish to process that it was free. Exhaustion crashed over him like an avalanche - he’d not slept since the Dark Lord had begun this assault upon him. 

_Hwinneth._

Horror filled him. By Eru, what had he done? How much had he revealed? He struggled to stand but failed. His body trembled with weakness, too long denied rest. Darkness began to seep in through his pores, and he struggled to call for aid. 

He could not allow this. He would… not…

The Elvenking tipped over, collapsing on the cold marble floor.

OoOoOo

Caranoran removed his crown, setting it aside with gentle care. Next, he shucked the formal attire his brother had insisted he wear while residing within the Elvenking’s Halls.

 _Ada’s Hall,_ he thought with remorse. His home was changed. The warmth and welcome that Thranduil had maintained despite the encroaching darkness outside their gates was gone. 

As was his _adar_ if something was not done quickly. 

The kingdom was a land divided. Those closest to the royal family, loyal Royal Guards and the Elven Guard as well as choice nobles, followed the Elvenking’s original decree to the letter. They looked to Gellamon for leadership as they attempted to keep the king calm and convinced he was still king. 

His father didn’t seem to recall handing the throne over to his son. Sauron had played his hand well, highlighting once more for any who may have forgotten just how dire a foe it was they faced. 

_Eru aid us._

They could not seek aid from the White Council. Gellamon had informed him of the possible weak link in that august body: Saruman. With the White Wizard to be compromised, Gandalf could not be entrusted as in times past, either, for his esteem for the head of his order was well known. 

Only Radagast remained to them, an irony since Caranoran had been urged to seek him out should any hint of danger arise to Hwinneth. The dwarf had been most compelling with his arguments on her behalf. For her sake, Caranoran had watched his _adar_ and hoped the Elvenking would hold out against his oppressor. 

He’d delayed too long, hesitant to act in opposition to both _adar_ and _gwanur. Legolas would not have delayed so long._

The stakes had climbed too high. The Istari had been sent to their world to aid them. By Eru, Radagast could not fail them now. The wizard could no longer pretend to be the dotard and care only about his plants and animals. He would help the Elvenking. Caranoran would insist upon it.

Donning cloak and latching his saddlebag, he collected his things and headed for the door.

OoOoOo

Long into the night, Bofur worked.

He picked up the long piece of wood Kíli had used as a walking stick on his journey to Lake-town. The younger Durin would not be needing it any longer if Bofur was any judge. Kíli was recovering quickly now, the lass’s teas curing him of his head pains. 

_No sleep for you tonight, Bofur my lad._ It was well enough. He’d had sleepless nights before. With whittling knife in hand, he set to work, determined to see this project completed ere the sun rose. 

His hand drifted to the bracelet tucked in his coat pocket. His thumb smoothed over its surface. He gazed up at the open loft above the main room he and the lads shared. His Daphne had retreated up there an hour past with Freija. Peace filled him. None could approach either lassie without passing first through the dwarves and Aleks, for they all bunked down in the small family’s main room.

Bofur savored the quiet, knowing he had a full day ahead of him. By Aulë, he did. Speak with Bard. Give some thought to Aleks’s request about constructing a “blind”. Train Daphne - he had to find time for that. Though one lesson would not turn her into a fighter, a trick or two might very well save her life in these dangerous times. 

Bofur bent his head, and immersed himself in turning a piece of knotted ironwood, stubborn and obstinate as such wood would ever be, into a weapon suitable for a dryad.

OoOoOo

Gloin puffed away at his pipe, his attention traveling from Bifur to Bombur and on to Bilbo. In each face, he read the same knowledge, a knowledge that burned like a forge after the bellows had been applied by too careless a hand.

 _Aye, so it has started._

He’d suspected as much when Thorin had left the lads behind. The king Gloin knew would never have allowed Dís’s sons to be parted from his side. He’d never have called off the search for young Kíli, no matter if Erebor stood to be pillaged by the Elvenking himself. Those lads meant everything to him.

Now, gold-lust grew each mile they drew nearer to Erebor. Gloin’s gaze flicked towards the Lonely Mountain. Aye, he felt it too, the awe and excitement to clap eyes once more on their home. One could not help but feel pride to look upon the feat of dwarven craftsmanship, the mighty gem of a kingdom carved into the belly of the great Lonely Mountain herself. He supposed the same could be said of Khazad-dum, but Erebor was _his_ home. Moria might well be magnificent, but Erebor held a part of his heart.

Bilbo seated himself by his side, hands smoothing his coat before fiddling with his pockets. “They will be alright. Don’t you think?”

Gloin exhaled a stream of smoke before answering. “I’ll tell ye this, Master Baggins. If young Kíli and Aleks survived, it will be Bofur and Fíli who do the finding.”

The hobbit’s dark eyes darted to him before skittering away. He cleared his throat. “Why did those men attack Daphne, do you suppose?”

Since word had been delivered of the lass’s demise, the hobbit had been withdrawn, bruised in his innocent soul. Gloin patted him awkwardly upon the back. “’tis a loss and a tragedy. Cowards. _That_ is why they attacked her. It is what cowards do, my lad.”

“Still, there must have been a reason.”

“Do not try and understand the mind of a murdering ruffian, Master Baggins,” a new voice chimed in, a voice in a commanding tone they’d not heard in days. Gloin knew the others were watching the reemergence of their king with the same relief as he. Even should it be a brief respite, all straightened in their seats, reassured by the sudden reappearance of the king’s capable air. Thorin stood by the bow of the large boat, one hand upon the rail as he faced them, the rising sun at his back. “Those with no honor cannot be understood by those who live by it.”

“Interesting words, laddie,” Gloin said, breaking his silence upon the subject. They’d broached the matter of dragon sickness when Thorin had declared they would leave their lost members behind and move on to Erebor, but their king had reacted in anger. Mayhap he’d hear them this time. 

Thorin’s dark gray eyes narrowed, a warning to be sure. Balin cleared his throat, his bushy gray brows lowering until they hid his eyes. 

“Do not speak to me of dragon sickness, Master Gloin. I know it well.”

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped. Such a weight the hobbit would carry, and there was naught to be done if Thorin would not listen. 

Without another word, Gloin returned his gaze to the Lonely Mountain.

OoOoOo

Bofur rapped upon the door of one Bard the Bowman.

The door opened with the cry of rusted hinges, and a wee face looked out, a lass of no more than ten years with big blue eyes and a mop of curly brown hair. “You’re a dwarf,” she accused.

Bofur beamed at her and bowed with a comedic flourish. “Bofur, son o’ Banfur, at your service,” he said. 

The lass’s lips curled upwards. 

“Now, my bonnie lass, might your father be at home?” 

She tapped her lips with one finger, her eyes skyward, and it was all Bofur could do not to pound fist into knee with laughter. Such a precocious little thing, she was. At last, she said, “I’m Tilda.”

“A pleasure, m’lady,” he said with another bow and a wink. 

Tilda giggled and withdrew, the door closing in her wake. Bofur heard her muffled voice inside, “Papa!” Footsteps pounded up a stairwell as the little girl called again, “Papa!”

Bofur clasped hands behind his back and whistled, winking at passersby and thinking. Durin’s Day had arrived. That very eve, Thorin and the Company would face a dragon, the greatest calamity of their time, or so he’d once believed. _A dragon cannot compare with the Dark Lord._ His gaze skipped across the roof-line, searching, searching until he spotted what he’d been looking for: the windlance. 

A piece of history, to be sure. One destined to save them all if Daphne’s stories proved true.

The door opened once more, and Bofur craned his neck back to look up at the tall man. That he’d no liking at finding a dwarf upon his stoop was plain by the frown upon his face. Dark of hair, this man, and light of eye. He wore his beard short in the way of men and his hair cropped at the neck. 

“A dwarf, come to see me?” Bard looked him up and down, and Bofur smiled up at him. Aye, but it was fun to discomfort the bristling man. “What do you want?”

“A moment of your time, nothing more.”

Bard leaned against the door frame, arms folded before his chest. “So speak.”

Bofur tilted his hat back an inch. “I was thinking with less of an audience, to be truthful.” 

Bard’s reluctance was plain to see, but the man backed into his home and held the door open for him. Inside the small house – a grand one indeed compared to Jarel’s, though still simple and poor – Bard leaned against one wall, again with folded arms. 

Bofur got right to his point. “I’m thinking it would be a wise idea to have an evacuation plan in place should the worst come to pass.”

Bard stiffened, his pale eyes flashing. “If you dwarves had not--”

“Aye, and you have the right to your anger,” Bofur told him. “Erebor is our home, Master Bard. That day we lost everything we held dear,” and as Bard looked ready to angrily talk over him, he hurried to add, _“as did the men of Dale.”_

Bard’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here? If you believe an evacuation plan is called for, shouldn’t you be addressing the Master of Lake-town?” Bard pressed a hand to his chest in sheer mockery. “I am but a lowly bowman. Direct your concerns to those in charge.”

Aye, of course it would not be as easy as he’d hoped. _What did you think, Bofur my lad, that you would approach this angry man, and he’d leap at your suggestion?_ Weeell, it was what he’d hoped. Rather foolishly, really. “You care for the people of Lake-town,” Bofur said with as much diplomacy as he could. 

Bard unbent enough to snort. “Well, you are correct there. The Master cares for nothing but his own comfort and coffers.” He moved to the table and took a seat, leaning back in the chair with arms folded. “Why would you wish to help us?” An expression moved across his face. “We cost you the dwarf lady. I would think you’d hate us.”

Bofur moved closer until only the table separated them. “I’m a warrior only at need,” he said at last. “By trade, I am a toymaker.”

“Sigrid, he’s a _toymaker,”_ he heard Tilda squeal above stairs and grinned.

“Well, at least one soul appreciates my trade,” he said with a lopsided grin. More seriously, “You have children here. Women. I’d not see them come to harm, Master Bard.” Leaning upon the table with his knuckles, he added, “And my lass survived _because_ of a brave soul in Lake-town.”

Bard’s head jerked up. “She lives?”

“Aye, and before you ask, I’ll not be telling the how.”

Bard planted both elbows on the table. “That,” he said, “says more for you than anything else you’ve said so far. Alright, let’s talk. You think we should have an evacuation plan. In case Smaug does come calling, I presume?”

“Aye.” Movement teased the corner of his eyes, and Bofur looked up to see Tilda’s big blue eyes staring down at them. 

“Tilda,” Bard said with a long-suffering sigh. 

The little lass beamed down and waved her hand like a queen to her adoring masses. Bofur didn’t bother to try and tame his smile. 

“Tilda,” a female voice scolded. Tilda vanished from view. 

Bofur rocked on his heels. “For the little ones,” he said. “My Company approaches Erebor even now. I cannot help them, and ‘tis true, I fear for their safety. But we volunteered to follow our king. The lads are not going into danger unknowing-like. The same cannot be said for you.”

Bard rose and walked to a window facing northward. Like as not, he was staring straight at the Lonely Mountain. “You had no right,” Bard said with low anger. “No right to venture closer and rile the beast when we are the ones who have lived here in his shadow. _We_ have faced the danger every day of our lives. You have no right to disturb the peace like this.”

Bofur smoothed a hand down one of his braids, admitting that the man had a point. Had any of them considered the men of Lake-town when formulating their plans? Ah, but Erebor – Thorin had a right, too. _They_ had a right. “The die is cast,” he said at last, borrowing from Balin. “Even if I wished, I could not turn them back.”

Bard leveled him with a brief, frustrated look. “There are over ten thousand men crammed into this town. How do you suggest we evacuate if the dragon flies?”

Bofur withdrew the crude map Aleks had drawn for him that morning with the guidance of his bird friends and placed it on the table.


	39. Bofur's Opening Salvo

### Chapter 38

Aleks grabbed his mostly-emptied duffle like a man on a mission. He totally was. 

Bofur had left before Daphne had risen to attend to a laundry list of chores he was determined to see done as quickly as possible, the first being to seek out Bard and discuss the possibility of an evacuation plan. It was something Aleks had discussed with Jarel in private that morning shortly after the dwarf’s departure. Aleks hadn’t wished to alarm the man, only to point out the possibility for disaster. Jarel had eyed him as if reading between the lines. 

His response: “You say they cannot enter until sunset? Tonight? We’ll be ready.” He’d then calmly informed his family that he was thinking of a family excursion on the ferryboat that night. From the delight upon the family’s faces, it must have been something they did fairly often, for there was no sign of curiosity or concern. 

Jarel didn’t tell them about a possible Smaug-invasion, and Aleks didn’t, either. 

_One down, one to go._

It had struck him as Daph had checked his wound after breakfast that he’d been an idiot. That was okay, because she was being one, too. They kept waiting for her dryad side to heal, yet they’d done nothing to feed it what _it_ needed. 

That was going to change. Today. Because war was coming, and while he was already wracking his brain for some safe place to stash her in the interim, she could still find herself in the middle of battle. Stuff happened. He wanted her armed to deal with it. For that, she had to heal. Pronto. 

He paused by Freija, lowering his voice and touching her arm. “You are certain this is the only way to be sure we aren’t seen?”

She sniggered, those dimples appearing to taunt him once more. She’d been laughing about this since he’d broached her for assistance earlier. “The mighty warrior afraid to--”

“I’m not afraid,” he protested, sounding all kinds of defensive to his own ears. _Bah, let it go._ Aleks waved a hand, conceding to necessity. “We’ll knock twice when we return. Try not to make this more disgusting than it has to be. Deal?”

Another peal of laughter as she bent over clutching her belly, her adorable dimples flashing once again.

His own lips tried to smile – _It’s not funny,_ he protested to himself – but her mirth was infectious. With a shake of his head, Aleks went to round up his sister. 

He found her in conversation with Fíli and Kíli and prodded her to her feet without a word. “We’re off,” he told Fíli, whom he’d already filled in. 

“Off?” Daph echoed as Fíli explained to Kíli why they wouldn’t be joining them. 

Aleks hustled her towards the water-closet. 

“Aleks?”

From behind, Fíli called, “I’ll inform Bofur when he returns.”

Aleks gave the heir a thumbs up. Behind him, he heard Kíli say, “Now what does that mean, do you think?” Aleks ignored the question.

“Where are we going? Aleks, you were sliced up and required stitches. You should be taking it easy, not-- Why are we in the bathroom?”

He opened the toilet lid, exposing the straight hop down into the lake. It really kind of grossed him out to think of thousands of people defecating in the water they used for both drinking and food. Knowing the lake was as big as the Great Lakes and that the currents swept anything away pretty quickly did little to alter his view. 

“Down you go,” he said.

She eyed the hole and then him. “Uh, no. I’ll pass, thank you very much.”

It was his turn to poke her in the chest. “We’re almost out of time, Daph. Tonight, there is every chance hundreds if not thousands of these people will need a healer.”

“Aleks, I can’t--”

“We’ve been idiots. A dryad draws her strength from the flora biome. You got damaged. I get that. But what did we do after? We dragged you into Mirkwood. There is no way that diseased place could heal you. I’m going to assume it did the opposite, keeping your wounds fresh and raw. Then we get to the Elvenking’s Halls, and you’re thrown into a pit. You’re half frozen to death. If that wasn’t enough, how about a chaser of a wild barrel-ride down the river and ending up in a place over water. A place with _no_ plants.”

Her eyes had grown with his every point. Still, she nibbled her lower lip, eyeing the toilet. “This is gross, Aleks. And it won’t help your wound.”

“You could come up with treatments a hundred times better if you were healed.” His ghost of a smile blossomed as he saw he was winning. “Think of it this way, it also gives you a break from Kíli, the King of Flirtation.”

He got her with that one. “You’d think he’d just discovered girls,” she said dryly.

“I think he did,” he snorted in return. “Think about it. Three to one ratio, how many young lady dwarves has he known?”

“There had to be some,” she argued. Then, she smiled. “Still, it would explain Rivendell,” she sniggered. With a sigh, “A _toilet,_ Aleks?”

“Unless you want this house invaded by more men who think they can orchestrate a shotgun wedding and live to tell the tale.” He opted not to tell her that Jarel was certain the men involved had been sicced on her not for matrimony – at least, he didn’t think so – but at the Master’s behest. The shotgun wedding thing, according to Jarel, Hydi, and Freija, was still very much a danger. Better she worry about that. He and Bofur would worry about the Master.

She jumped down the chute. 

The swim through the lake took only a half hour or so thanks to some brilliant thinking on Aleks’s part (if he did say so himself). Borrowing an oversized fishing net from his host, he called up a bunch of large fish for aid. Using the net as a sail of sorts, the fish poured inside and whisked the both of them away. 

It was totally cool. Daph grinned from ear to ear, and Aleks himself whooped a time or three when they surfaced for air. The fish fled the net when they reached their destination, and Aleks finned a thank you, tickled to finally find a use for fish-speak that didn’t end with one of the poor creatures on a plate.

As the fish dispersed, Aleks led the way to shore, bundling up the net and setting it down just beyond the water’s reach. The spot was perfect, just as Freija had promised. No men in sight, plants everywhere. He inhaled, feeling tension drain away with his exhale. 

“Feeling a bit claustrophobic?” Daphne teased. 

He nodded emphatically. “Don’t think I could live in a city again.”

“You’ll have to get used to it if you are set on living in Erebor,” she said. “But I know what you mean. Even Gwathadar’s Halls feel more airy than Lake-town, and they’re largely underground.”

Gwathadar. The word fell easily from her tongue. He tried not to let it tick him off, but he did not trust the elf. “You really do care for him,” he broached.

She turned on him, glaring. “Don’t start.”

_That’s a yes._ Lifting hands, Aleks said, “Not starting. Not like last time. I’m curious. He…” – frantic search for something good to say about the Elvenking – “…he could have given you up to save himself.” The words had the benefit of being true. “Daph, I’d like to understand.” 

With a shrug and a last, doubting look, she acquiesced. 

They crisscrossed the area, Aleks whispering greetings to the many venomous snakes (the reason none of the locals ventured here) as she picked herbs which he stashed in the duffle. She placed palms upon trees and bushes whenever she passed one, her expression dipping towards Ice-Princess blankness. That alone spoke volumes about how she was coping with her loss.

All the while, Daph told him about her second meeting with Thranduil, and the care she’d received from Caranoran. With her words, she painted a picture of her time in the Elvenking’s Halls, her voice going soft as she spoke of what she’d accomplished in healing the groves nearest the Halls. That it meant the world to her was evident. She’d felt valued and useful. 

That, he could totally relate to.

In return, he shared anecdotes of his time with Thorin, about how much the dwarf king had…inspired him, he guessed. He spoke of evenings along the trail with the Company and the embarrassing duels with Dwalin.

OoOoOo

Hope warred with fear, the conflicting emotions leaving me with the slightest feeling of fever - chilled, then flushed and hot. I was so scared Aleks was wrong. I hadn’t had much time to really deal with losing that part of myself, but being in this glade had brought it home with a vengeance.

The silence. How to describe how unnerving it felt? Like the world had been hushed, shrouded in grief. Discussing with Aleks what I’d done in Mirkwood made it all the harder. I halted without warning and sat down on the grass, hands digging into the soil. 

“Daph?” How gentle he sounded. If someone had told me I’d ever be on the receiving end of that concern, I’d have laughed them to scorn back home. Oh, I’d have wanted it - desperately so - but no way would I have believed it. 

His hand gingerly pressed to my back as he squatted. “Bofur would have some great, witty comment right now that would make us all believe things were okay. That they’d get better.”

I snorted and laughed. “He does have that way about him, doesn’t he?” The thought of Bofur lifted my spirits.

“More than once, we’d be neck-deep in trouble and someone would ask him how it could be worse,” Aleks told me with a half-smile.

I found a laugh so much easier this time. “I’ll bet he did, too.”

“Yup.”

Shoulder-bumping my brother, I said, “Thanks. You’re not so bad at this yourself.”

“Give it time. What happened…” He cleared his throat. “It happened so fast. I wish I could have--”

I pushed him over with one finger, disturbing his balance. “Quit blaming yourself.” I exhaled slowly. “I’m tired of that.”

“What?”

“The blame game.” I massaged my fingers in the top soil, finding comfort in the earthy smell and feel. “We’ve done enough of it.” I caught him scanning the area, his eyes narrowed. “We okay?”

“What?” Back to me. “Oh. Yeah. Just keeping watch.”

I studied him. Aleks had changed, and not just where I was concerned. He didn’t look perpetually angry anymore. He’d filled out some, growing bigger across the shoulders - probably from the weapons training and fighting. The beard, though, was a trip. He was looking more and more like _Appa,_ all untamed satyr wild-man. 

“Your hair needs a trim,” I blurted.

He barked in laughter. “Where did that come from?”

I reached over and tugged his beard gently. “I was thinking you are looking more and more like _Appa.”_

He looked all shocked. Pleased. “Thanks,” he said, going gruff and Gloin-like. 

A loud noise. Birds exploded into the air from the forest a good half mile from us. Aleks was on his hooves, fully satyr that fast, his body tense and eyes narrowed. 

Then his eyes about bugged out. “Down!” he hissed, his body slamming to the ground and driving me with him. All the air rushed from my lungs. He hurriedly flipped me to my belly and nudged me into motion. “Keep low. Behind those bushes. Hurry.” 

He grabbed his boots, and we scrambled on elbows and knees behind the cluster of bushes he’d pointed out - broom, I identified absently as we hid behind the collective shield of their tiny leaves. Instantly, we were immersed in a fragrant, citrus scent. 

And I heard it. The broom before me…whispered. I heard it. _I heard it._ Reaching up with a trembling hand, I touched one soft yellow flower and whispered a greeting. Then, I frowned as it answered back in incomprehensible babbles. It was like tuning in to a foreign radio station. I couldn’t understand a word. 

Aleks’s hiss returned me to reality. I could hear the broom. It was an improvement. I’d take it. 

“What is it?” I breathed near his ear. 

“Orcs,” he said. “An army of them.”

Already? 

“They’re marching towards Lake-town.”

“They’re early,” I protested.

He growled something under his breath. “Guess they didn’t get the memo. But Daph? This is no scouting party. What you described attacking Lake-town? This isn’t it.”

I went cold. “Something has changed.”

“Ya think?” he snapped, then grimaced at me, an apology in his green eyes. “This messes up everything.”

“Aleks…” I didn’t even want to voice what I was thinking, but I plowed on. “Could they reach Erebor before Smaug is dealt with?”

His whole body tensed until a rock showed more pliability. Then, expletives rained down, each spat out and carefully enunciated with virulence. He gave me an intent look. “I don’t believe they could get there before tonight, but what if I’m wrong?” His gaze returned to the forest, and he rubbed his face in frustration. “We warn Thorin.”

“How?”

“Got anything to write on?”

OoOoOo

Aleks pounded down the streets of Lake-town, his clothes sopping and bare feet slapping against wood planks. “Out of the way!” he yelled, weaving between pedestrians. He spotted some of the town’s guards headed towards him, but he raced around a turn. “Bofur!” The toymaker had to be nearby. _“Bofur!”_

A hatted head popped into view - he’d been inside a merchant’s stall. As Aleks huffed and puffed to a halt before him, the dwarf said, “I’d be asking where the fire might be, but I’m thinking it’s a site worse. You’d best be telling me straight off--”

“Fine. Daph’s fine.” Aleks shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “Problem. Tell me you and Bard--”

“Here now, what’s this?” a new voice intruded. A pair of guards had caught up to him. “What’s the meaning of running through the streets, sc--”

“Orcs,” Aleks interrupted. “An army of them.” Back to Bofur. “Must have been at least a thousand, but that’s only the part I could see.”

Stunned silence claimed the townsfolk that listened in. 

The guards grabbed Aleks. “Wait a minute,” Aleks protested. 

“To the Master,” a third guard commanded as he appeared. 

Bofur looked ready to protest, but Aleks told him, “I’ll warn the Master. You look after the others.”

OoOoOo

_Mahal._ Bofur collected his purchases and ran back to the bowman’s residence. How much time did they have?

 _A thousand._ Aye, the town had the numbers, but most were too young, too old, or too poorly fed to fight such a foe. Doubtful indeed that most had benefited from a day’s training. 

He did not bother with knocking. Instead, he charged right in. Bard came half out of his seat, he did, but Bofur’s tight words cut in before the man found his voice. “An army of orcs is headed this way. They may, perhaps, pass you by and head for Erebor, but I’m thinking it’s time to put our plans into use.”

“Orcs?” Bard repeated, leaping into action. “Sigrid, get your brother.” A young lass near Freija’s age rushed up the stairs. “Why?” Bard demanded. 

“That, I’m not knowing. One of our party spotted them while out hunting.”

“How much time do we have?”

“That, I’ll be determining next. You’ll find us with the ferryman.”

Bard’s brow hiked upwards, and he snorted, shaking his head. “Trust Jarel to be the one to hide your lady. You _do_ know those men did not act without the Master’s approval, I hope?”

To what end, Bofur thought with renewed anger, the Master had best be hoping he never learned. “Aye.”

OoOoOo

“Bain, spread the word along the south end. Everyone is to evacuate,” Bard ordered as he armed himself. “Sigrid, grab only what you need and get on the boat. We’ll meet you there if we can. If the orcs show up and we aren’t back, you hoist anchor and leave, do you understand?”

His eldest child bobbed her head, eyes wide.

“Watch your sister.”

“I will, Papa.”

The two men exited together. Bain raced south, knocking on doors as Bard did the same heading along the northwestern pier. Word spread as young boys only assigned that very afternoon ran in predetermined directions.

OoOoOo

We’d formed a bucket brigade, minus the bucket. Jarel, Freija, and Hydi all collected the things I piled up near the door and booked it to their boat about forty paces or so down the boardwalk. The entire neighborhood swarmed with activity as the small family’s urgency was picked up and transmitted like a virus.

Kíli and Fíli helped the neighbors nearest Jarel’s place. I spotted them both regularly bustling to and fro. The one I didn’t see as soon as I’d expected was Bofur. 

_C’mon Aleks. What’s taking so long?_ I sent.

Still nothing. My improvement had not restored that vital connection, and I was almost screaming in frustration. What was happening? Like everyone else on the street, all I could do was run around as fast as I could, another pair of hands to aid those who needed it. 

Fíli, Kíli and I were in a neighbor’s house a couple doors down when Bofur charged in. Immediately, his face flashed from grim and worried to his typical easy-go-lucky expression, his shoulders relaxing from their tensed elevation. “Ye had to kick the hornet’s nest, eh, my Daphne?” He clucked his tongue and winked. 

“Very funny,” I said, unable to hold back a smile, though it was by no means a convincing one, I’m sure. Inside, I was jittery, stressed and freaked. With a shaky laugh, I said, “I dare you to tell me it could be worse now.” 

“Aye, it could be,” Bofur said without hesitation. “We could have been attacked without warning, my lass, and don’t be forgetting that. Aleks’s spontaneous outing – without me, I might add, my lass,” he scolded with a sad shake of the head. A brief grin, there and gone, and he continued more soberly, “We’d have been sitting here, all the while unknowing of the danger.” He fingered a lock of my hair out of my face. 

I blew another strand from my forehead. 

Then he lowered his voice, stepping closer. “You should not be out of Jarel’s house, my Daphne.”

I waved that away. “With everything happening, I doubt anyone would try anything.”

Two rough-skinned fingers pressed to my lips, and brown-green houseleek eyes captured mine. “Lass, why do you think so many orcs march on Lake-town? It is not a part of your story books.”

Bofur’s intent look never left mine as Fíli drew near. “You believe you know why,” Fíli said.

“Aye.” Still, Bofur’s gaze did not move an inch. 

Everything else had gone wrong, so I hadn’t really questioned the whys or hows. With Bofur silently urging me, I began to think about it. Why _would_ Azog or Sauron target Lake-town? The people here were poor. Simple. 

“Think, my lass. What is here that would be of greatest value to the enemy?”

But the Ring wasn’t-- My brain stopped so fast, I could smell the smoking tires. _By all the Valar._ “Me,” I whispered, beyond petrified at that realization. I sagged into him, needing that contact, and Bofur’s hands looped around me in a loose hold. 

“Aye,” he said. 

_Gwathadar._ My head turned towards where, miles away, the Elvenking’s Halls stood. What had Sauron done to him? What did I bring upon him? My chest began to ache. “You think the Elvenking folded,” I said. Did Gwathadar even live? 

“Folded?” Bofur said, one hand gently rubbing my back in comforting circles. “I’m thinking the siege for his mind has ended. The Dark Lord knows you have information he wants and that you’re traveling with dwarves.”

Kíli joined us, but it was Fíli who said, “They will hunt Uncle.”

_The Dark Lord knows you have information,_ Bofur had said. The words resounded through me like an ominous gong. _The Dark Lord knows…_

What did he suspect? Could this just be more of the same? Sauron out for some payback against the elves with me as the perfect conduit? _A whole army sent after Lake-town._ Sauron wouldn’t spend his armies on payback, not with his objectives in mind. The guy was evil personified, but he’d never been described as stupid. 

_The Dark Lord knows…_

How important had I just become on the Middle Earth chessboard arrayed before him? My eyes closed. _If he suspects there is any chance I know where the Ring is…_ My eyes flew up to Bofur’s, needing – absolutely needing – the reassurance he brought. 

“Aye,” Bofur said, his eyes capturing mine when I looked up. His arms around me tightened as if he detected my growing freak-out. “When they do not find the lass here, they will pursue the Company.”

“Aleks warned them,” I managed, unable to look away. My hands had migrated to Bofur’s chest, twining about the fabric of his coat. “He sent a message by hawk.” My respiration sped up until I was borderline hyperventilating. 

_The Dark Lord knows…_

“Will they be able to enter Erebor before the army arrives?” I heard Kíli ask, the sound hollow like it came through a tunnel. He burst in anger, “They cannot fight on both fronts, orcs on one side and Smaug on the other.”

“Thorin will summon Dain as soon as he receives that message. The orcs are too late to halt them from entering Erebor. Even mounted, the journey will take over a day from here,” Fíli said, his attention leaving the open window facing Erebor and returning to me and Bofur. “We have to get her out of Lake-town.”

_The Dark Lord knows…_

The Ringwraiths would be on their way, a dispassionate fragment of me observed. There was no way they wouldn’t be. Anyone trying to protect me would be slaughtered. The wraiths were invisible when not choosing to announce themselves with black robes. They could come upon anyone unseen but the soul wearing the One Ring. Granted, without armor and physical weapons, they also couldn’t do anything but haunt us with fear. They had to be robed and armed to interact with the physical world. 

Where were they? Minas Ithil in eastern Gondor had fallen – What? Nine hundred years ago? – and been renamed Minus Morgul, the Dead City. Most of them would be there. Maybe a few in Mordor. If the one that had been in Dol Guldur remained there when the Elvenking had succumbed, we could have one arriving in a matter of days. 

“Lass?”

My gaze had dropped, unseeing. A part of me tried to insist I’d promised myself not to be ruled by fear anymore, to not panic. The rest of me decided that voice was stupid as it replayed movie depictions of the Nazgûl in my head. Panicking now was totally appropriate. 

“Lass?” Hands cupped my cheeks and callused thumbs caressed my face. 

“They’re coming,” I managed, staring into those mesmerizing eyes as if nothing else existed.

Movement from beside us. “Is she okay?” Kíli asked his brother.

Was I? 

“Who, lass?” Bofur asked so very gently.

“What do you know about the Ringwraiths, Bofur?” I asked. Everything felt distant, surreal. Was this what it was like to utterly flip out? Maybe my mind had overloaded, fritzing out. Blue screen death, fatal system error, kaput. 

Bofur’s gaze slid sideways to the Durins, but my numb cocoon burst the instant his eyes veered away. I grabbed at him, my brain jostled from its stupor. 

“Okay,” I said, panting. _Think, Daphne. Think._ “They have to be on their way. I don’t believe they have their flying mounts yet.”

“Flying?” Fíli repeated, incredulous.

I bobbed my head. “If they were in Minas Morgul when their lord called them, it’ll take them time to get here.” I’d hope for the best and assume the one that’d been in Dol Guldur had left either before or during the arrival of the White Council. Surely if that body could send Sauron running, a Nazgûl would be infinitely smaller potatoes. Right? The elves and wizards never would have left one there, I didn’t think. So, the wraiths had to be far to the south. The Nine could only go as fast as a horse could travel. 

_Weeks._ I took my first easy breath. _Probably months._

“Lass?”

My shoulders relaxed, and I loosened my death’s grip upon his jacket. 

Bofur’s hands dropped from my face, one looping around my waist while the other rubbed his nose. “Not to be rushing you, but there is an army or orcs approaching.”

His tone was so _not_ panicked that I snorted, a small grin flashing up at him. 

“Aye, that’s better,” he said, satisfied with himself.

“They _will_ be a problem,” I told him. “We have a few weeks, probably, but Bofur, I’m going to have to vanish.” As I said the words, the ramifications sank in. No Gwathadar, no dwarves. I would literally have…to…disappear…

“Aye,” he said, cheerfully.

_Cheerfully?_ My eyes narrowed. “Aye?” I echoed ominously. 

His grin grew. 

“Well, I like that,” I huffed, foot tapping and arms crossing before my chest. To Fíli, “I tell the guy I have to leave, and he celebrates.”

I saw Fíli’s brow shoot up, then Bofur’s palms were pressed to my cheeks, and with no warning, warm, dry lips descended to mine. Gentle. Tender. Playful. The tenor registered a split second before it was over and houseleek eyes were staring down at me as serious as a heart attack. 

Bofur had kissed me. My mind turned broken record, stuck on that fact. _Bofur_ had kissed me. Bofur had kissed _me._ Every permutation of the four words raced through my mind in a never ending loop as Bofur stared down at me. 

“Give us a minute, will you, lads?” Bofur asked, not once breaking eye-contact.

“Sure thing,” Fíli said, a hint of amusement in his voice. I didn’t see it, but from the sound, I think he had to shove Kíli to get him moving. 

So there were two of us in shock. Good to know I wasn’t alone. 

Bofur had _kissed_ me. 

The instant the door closed behind the Durins, Bofur drew my forehead forward until it touched his own. It was a poignant embrace, one I’d witnessed only between the closest of kin among the dwarves. _Not_ a display they took lightly. Chills stole up and down my spine, and my heart skipped a beat. 

“Hear me now, my lass,” Bofur said, releasing the contact. “’twas always a possibility, Sauron discovering you.” It was? “The wizard has already been sent for.”

“Radagast?”

“Aye.” He frowned, brow pursed. “I’m not happy it’s become necessary, but it was not completely unexpected. Bifur has already agreed. We have a plan, see.”

A plan?

“You’ll not be alone. If we must leave Erebor and take to the road as peddlers once more, that is what we’ll be doing.”

Wait. He planned to vanish with me? “Bofur,” I said, more than a bit stunned. Bofur kissed me. He planned to leave his home to keep me safe? 

Joy. Relief.

Dismay. Grief. 

No way. With Sauron after me, I would be lethal to everyone I cared about. I tried to wrench away, but while I’d been lost in thought, he’d wrapped me in a loose, unbreakable hold. “Bofur,” I objected.

“Nay.” His calm, pleasant tone was like a nail dragged across the chalkboard. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” I growled at him, wiggling for freedom. “He’ll kill anyone in his way. We’re talking about _the Nazgûl,_ Bofur!” And did I ever feel like bawling now. 

“Nay,” he repeated. 

“Bofur.” I tried to make him understand, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket and hauling him close. “I don’t want you dead!” I found myself literally trying to shake some sense into the dwarf, freaked out at the idea of getting him killed.

A comical wriggle of the eyebrows. “Nor do I,” he told me. He squeezed my next objection before it was birthed. “Life has no guarantees, my Daphne. Something I learned well watching my dam and sire fall to Smaug’s fire. They were alive and still young, did ye know that? So much life yet to live. One misstep, and it was over. But lass, it did not have to be a Smaug. It could have been an accident at the forge that took my sire. Or a slip upon the steps of Erebor that claimed my dam. There are no promises.”

He had a point. I knew he had a point, yet, “Bofur, there is a world of difference between an accident and what _they_ can do.”

Bofur separated out a lock of my hair, winding it between two fingers. “I learned that day to never waste the time given. That was the day I left off mining and became a toymaker – not a respectable occupation for a dwarf, to be sure. But I made a promise to myself, see, never to let an opportunity to laugh go by without the laughing. Or to let a chance to lift a friend’s spirits go by without the lifting. Pride? It is a poor companion, though doubtless our illustrious king would disagree with me upon that point,” he wryly admitted with a lopsided smile, his fingers still playing with that lock of hair as if mesmerized. 

“I don’t want to get you killed,” I reiterated in a low voice. “If _he_ knows about me, this will not end well.”

His smile gained a razor-sharp, predatory edge. “Aye, if we let him. You’re frightened. I understand. A natural response, to be sure, and an intelligent one. But my lass? Life is worth the fighting for. Your life will be full if I have aught to say about it.” 

He gathered me close, his hug as tight as I needed it to be. My arms wrapped around him and my head found that notch beneath his chin. “He can be defeated,” he continued. “Did you not say it would happen?”

I laughed weakly. “About sixty years from now.”

“Mayhap that will remain so. Do you not see? It means he is not infallible. He can be outwitted. Fooled.”

Fooled? Just what was involved in this plan of his? I was about to ask when he opened his mouth and changed the subject. Radically. 

“Your hair is a mess, my lass.”

Um. What? “Excuse me?” He did not say what I just heard him say. Orcs were coming. My life was over. And he was _dissing my hair?_

His grin widened, his eyes twinkling like mad. He was messing with me! 

The teasing was like a breath of cool morning, pine-scented air. “Now look here, mister,” I told him, finger in his face until I noticed how grungy my nails were. (I _had_ been digging in the dirt.) I cleared my throat and curled my fingers out of sight. “You don’t go talking smack about a girl’s hair.”

His chest began shaking with his mirth, but he made a _tsk_ sound with his tongue. “I’m thinking there is one thing for it. What ye need, my Daphne, is a braid. Right… about… here.” His fingers separated out a hank of hair and twined it about one finger. 

A braid. My eyes widened. 

Bofur had kissed me. 

A braid. 

The first of three. What had Freija told me? It returned in a rush. The first braid signified courtship. Bofur wanted to court me. 

“You’re not seeing me, lass,” he said softly, his amusement dimming. “You look, but you don’t quite see.”

Is that what he thought? That he was somehow invisible to me? “Bofur, if you think I don’t see you, that you don’t matter,” I said, aghast, “nothing could be further from the truth.”

His finger halted my words. “Aye, well, there’s nothing for it,” he said, that twinkle returning stronger than before. “It seems I must plead my case.” Before my brain could figure out what to think or feel – a part of me was still stuck on _Bofur kissed me_ – his grip changed, hands framing my face and thumbs brushing against my cheeks. Then, his thumbs coaxed my chin up, and he kissed me again. This time, it was no mere brushing of the lips. His lips settled over mine, undemanding, coaxing. Languid, as if he had all the time in the world. He meant this. Really, really, _really_ meant this, and he intended to persuade me. 

I’d challenge any woman to not be tempted by this dwarf. For weeks we’d traveled together, rarely parting for more than an afternoon at a time. I’d shared more with him than with anyone in my life. I never laughed so much as when I was with him, and it seemed like his optimism transferred to me when we were together. I sought him out, cheered to be in his presence, and his smile had the power to warm me like no one else’s. 

Slowly, a part of me left shock behind, and instinct drove me to lean in closer. Tension melted from his frame, and he gathered me closer. 

Something inside compelled me, demanded my response. With my first tentative, awkward attempts, Bofur deepened the kiss, and the world blew up. _Holy fudgesicles, Batman._ It was like being launched into outer space. My head whirled, my belly flip-flopped and my knees enjoyed it so much, they checked out altogether. 

This embrace, it felt…right. 

And that threatened to utterly freak me out. Bofur mattered. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined he was interested – I mean, _Bofur?_ In a romantic role? – but with this one action, he’d destroyed my preconceptions about him with all the finality of Wile E Coyote stuck holding the stick of TNT after the Roadrunner had once again outsmarted him. 

He ended the kiss and retreated an inch or two, only a ghost of a smile on his face. My first kiss and the guy who delivered it had to be wearing a dopey, winged hat. I’d gripe about that. Later. 

Right then, I was beginning to freak. What had I done, letting him kiss me? And kissing him back? Hello? Where was my brain? He’d believe his feelings reciprocated, when in fact, I had no idea what I thought or felt. 

If I didn’t return his feelings, would he check out on me? A silent wail, _What am I supposed to do now?_

I cared for him, no question. He was more than just a friend, he was the one I turned to anytime I had something to share. If something struck me as funny, my first thought had become, “I really have to tell Bofur.” He’d been beside me almost nonstop for weeks now. Caring. Joking. A solid presence I’d learned I could depend upon. My estimation of him could hardly climb higher, but did that mean I loved him? I just didn’t know. I mean, yes, I loved him, but did I _love_ him? 

_Say something, Daphne! Or you’ll scare him off!_

“I’ve insulted you,” he said, regret beginning to replace the satisfaction that had filled him bare seconds before. 

“No!” I burst, hands fisting around the fabric of his tunic and pinning him in place. “Don’t go!” I about wigged out picturing him bowing out and walking away. I wouldn’t even blame him. Shoot, I was a basket case. Why should he want me?

His eyes widened, and he pulled me closer, his lips quirking up on one end. “If you believe I’ll be leaving now, lass, you’ve not been paying attention.”

Right. Okay. “Today has been a day of shocks,” I told him. _Understatement, much?_ “I’m kind of reeling here.” A deep breath. “I didn’t know you felt this way about me, and I’m not sure how to respond.” My fingers fidgeted with a toggle on his coat, and my gaze fixed there as I admitted, “I care for you more than anyone, and I mean _anyone,_ Bofur.” I dared to peek up at him. “But I never dated.”

His brows met over his nose. “Dated?” he said, as if testing the word. 

Ugh. I’d rather backed myself into a corner with that, hadn’t I? Who knew what the dwarves would think of the entire notion? I scratched at one eyebrow, debating how to explain. Or if. “I have no experience with matters of the heart.” I risked another glance upward. “Or men. Oh, I’m making a muck of everything, and now I’m babbling – don’t you dare laugh, you daft dwarf.”

He outright laughed. 

I blew a strand of hair from my face, my own amusement fleeing. All my life, people had left. _Appa_ and _Amma._ Aleks, at least in his emotions. “Don’t leave, Bofur,” I whispered. 

“Leave?” he asked, his own grin fading. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my departure, lass.” One eye squinted down upon me. “Why would I go away?”

I exhaled in a rush. “I don’t know. In stories, sometimes when the chick doesn’t fall into the guy’s arms, he decides she’s not worth it and changes his mind.”

_“Chick?”_ Bofur repeated, beginning to chuckle. “Never did chase after poultry before, though they do taste quite nice with a tankard o’ ale after a long day’s work.”

I pinched him, and his grin turned wicked. My worry melted away. This was Bofur. “You’re channeling Bombur,” I told him.

He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Aye, very interesting use of the language you naiads have.” Then a big smugly, “Besides, lass, not to quibble over finer points, but you _are_ in my arms.”

_Snort._ I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “You’re right,” I said softly, “I wasn’t seeing you. I can assure you, I’m seeing you now. I have a request, and it’s unfair, but I’m going to ask it anyway. Be patient with me here. Keep spending time with me so I can figure out what I feel.”

Oh, the satisfied smile that crossed his lips. _“Och,_ it will be a hardship, aye it will, but I’m thinking I’m up for it.” Then dropping the teasing note, “Aye, Daphne, I can do that.” He fingered that same lock of my hair, the one he’d said needed a braid, and a part of me began to warm to the idea.

Another part of me tried to grow frightened, because if things blew up between us, I wouldn’t just lose a date, I’d lose Bofur. Yet as he held me, that fear lost its purchase on me. 

Bofur cleared his throat before stepping back. He claimed my hand, looking nervous all of a sudden. “I’ve a gift for you, my Daphne.” Warm, smooth wood draped over my wrist as he clasped the gift, a bracelet, into place. “’tis all wood,” he hastened to add, tugging on his earlobe. 

_He really is nervous._ It was endearing and testified just how much I mattered to him. Who wouldn’t glow inside at that revelation?

His gift was a work of art. I stared at the bracelet, my throat growing tight. The wood had been meticulously carved with images of Clumber Spaniels on each panel. It was exquisite. Each panel was joined to the next with tiny wooden pins. He’d used not one scrap of metal in the construction. Spaniels spun like ballerinas. Spaniels played cards – _Saboteur,_ I realized with glee. Spaniels played peek-a-boo. 

The last one stole my heart. The crowning piece: a spaniel staring up at me with his lips puckered up in a kiss.

“How did you know?” I asked hoarsely, my fingers tracing that adorable pooch. 

Again, he tugged his earlobe. “You should not go around discarding so fine a piece of paper,” he mock-scolded, changing his hold so that he could draw a piece of crinkled paper out of his coat and place it in my hands. He pulled me back against his chest, his arms around me and his chin resting upon the top of my head. 

I unfolded the paper and stared. It was the sketch I’d made back when I’d first met Bilbo in Rivendell. Bofur had found it…and kept it.

“Your drawing does need some work,” he teased. “We’ll ask Ori about that.”

He wasn’t going anywhere. That certainty settled deep. When he’d mentioned a future for me, he pictured it enfolding with us together. My hands began to tremble, shaking the paper. He reclaimed it gently and folded it away. 

“Bofur…” I wanted a future and him in it, though in what capacity, I wasn’t sure. I wanted the chance to find out, but again, Sauron. Nazgûl. 

His arms tightened. “I’m wanting you to hear me this time, my lass.” 

My lass. How many times had he said that, yet I’d never picked up on it? _My_ lass. _My_ Daphne. He’d been saying it for a good while now, but I’d never recognized what he was saying. I’d assumed both general terms, but now I got the feeling he’d been very, very intentional about it. Subtle. But intentional. 

Same with touching my hair, I abruptly realized. It was an act of intimacy to the dwarves, yet he’d taken to tugging on that lock of hair, and I hadn’t even noticed.

“I want you to hear me and believe,” he continued. I hugged his arms to me and leaned back into him. The hair from his mustache tickled my ear as he said, “I have a plan, you see? We’ll get through this, never fear.” 

I was about to question him about this “plan” when the door slammed open. 

Fíli’s light eyes swept over us briefly, soft for a moment as he took in our close embrace. Then, he turned brusque. “The Master’s guards are rounding up every able-bodied man to defend the city. They are searching house-to-house.”


	40. Assault upon Lake-town, I

### Chapter 39

“They’re almost here,” Fíli warned them.

Bofur tucked his jacket around _his_ lass and hustled her towards the ferry, slapping his hat over her head to hide her identity. A breath later, he swung her around, spying guards headed for them from that direction, too. 

He could not allow her to be seen. Already the risk was greater than he was happy with. What, he needed to ask her soon, was a Ringwraith? Something to do with the Dark Lord, to be sure. Aye, well, they’d have to go through him to get at his lass. 

A quick reassessment, options playing through his mind, and he hurried her through Jarel’s front door, reclaiming his coat and hat and snatching up Aleks’s bag, shoving his purchases inside. Clothes for her, mostly. Breeches and tunics for the journey to Erebor. 

“They cannot see you,” he warned her. 

She bobbed her head.

There was a change there, aye there was. His lassie appeared much calmer with a new fire to be found in those pretty green eyes. The fear that had haunted her just minutes before had been overcome by determination. She was thinking now. Fighting. 

A dwarf could not ask for anything more. Mahal. ‘twas all he could do not to haul her into his arms and kiss her once more. 

He handed her twin’s pack into her keeping. “I’ve placed clothing inside for you,” he said. “A boy’s clothes. Can’t have the men knowing you survived, now, can we?” 

Before she could respond, he presented her with his second gift. Her eyes widened as he pressed the ironwood staff into her hands. It was not as complete as he’d hoped, but it had glyphs for home and heart upon its length. Strength and courage would have to be added later. 

He tore open the door to the water-closet upon hearing booted feet marching closer. Pushing Daphne inside, he lifted the toilet lid. 

“Again?” she said with feigned dismay, a small grin curling her up lips adorably. Then meeting his eyes. “You promised me you’d be here,” she said, her eyes flashing a warning. “I expect you to survive what happens next and honor that.”

“Aye,” he grinned, tipping his hat. Warmth filled his chest. ‘twas a good sign, her concern. “To be sure, I’ll be doing that.”

Holding the staff to her side, straight up and down, she leaped down the narrow chute into the lake. He was about to close the lid when she called up to him.“And Bofur?” Her green eyes met his a bit shyly. “I enjoyed kissing you. A lot.”

He could not help that his grin in response was a wee smug. Nay, he could not.

Bofur knocked the toilet lid down and sauntered from the room like he hadn’t a care in the world. In truth, he felt able to scale the Lonely Mountain herself. He’d barely entered the main room when a couple of guards kicked open the front door and confronted Kíli and Fíli.

“Dwarves,” one said with a sneer upon his ugly mug. 

“I thought you lot had all left,” the other said. This one, now, Bofur liked a heap better. He sounded relieved. 

“Are there any more?” the first demanded, shoving past Bofur to search the water-closet. 

“Oh, aye. He’ll be hiding in the toilet,” he drawled. “We tried to break him of the habit, but what can you do?”

The first man spun around, a scowl upon his clean-shaved face as Kíli sniggered and Fíli did a bit of his own smirking. 

_Aye, look at me._ Bofur could not risk the man actually searching the place nor checking the aforementioned toilet. 

“You did ask for that,” the second guard said with a chuckle.

“You have a smart mouth,” the first accused. 

Bofur gifted him with his harmless idiot smile. Kíli grinned at him, winking when no one was looking.

Under guard, they and all the men in the vicinity were led away.

OoOoOo

Aleks held to his patience with white-fingered determination. “I told you. I was out hunting.”

“In fields infested with poisonous snakes,” the obese, ruddy-faced man sneered from his seat at the table. The Master, Aleks had discovered, was enjoying an early-evening feast along with chosen lackeys. 

Aleks had never seen such decadence. The tables moaned under the weight of overflowing platters of roasted pheasant, crisply fried tubers reminiscent of potatoes, and pastry sweets. The men ate like pigs with food splattered upon their chins and down their expensive shirts. Aleks had seen dwarves enjoy their food before, but this display made even Bombur and Gloin look like dainty eaters. 

The Master was younger than he’d expected. Maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, but the sly greed beaming from his close-set blue eyes destroyed any impression of youth. This, Aleks thought, was a soul ravaged by excess and self-interest. The man wore the costliest of attire and indulged in every vice, including that of the feminine persuasion, much to Aleks’s disgust. Two pretty, heavily adorned and scantily clad women sat at his feet, and Aleks prayed they were there willingly. If they weren’t, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to contain himself. He might just kill the man.

Was this what the Master had in mind for Daph? Aleks decided he really didn’t want to know. 

Repugnant. The Master, his sycophants, all of it. 

“Yes,” Aleks bit out between clenched teeth. He really hoped Bofur was having better success motivating the locals, because this “Master” didn’t look ready to budge his obscenely huge girth for anything short of a nuclear strike. Not that the dude would know what hit him in that case.

_Hold your temper._ Losing it here could be disastrous. _Thorin would expect me to protect Fíli and Kíli._ Couldn’t do that from a jail cell. “As I said, I was hunting--”

“Maybe the fool has a death wish?” one sycophant suggested with a drunken sneer. 

“Or he’s lying,” another, sober individual suggested. Shrewd eyes gleamed as the scarecrow of a man rubbed his palms together. 

“That is a possibility,” the Master agreed with a quirk of fat, puffed up jowls. 

_An evil Mr. Dough Boy,_ Aleks decided. 

This was so stupid. 

The hall doors opened and a guard marched in and saluted his…master. 

“An update, Guard Pelman?” the Master said with thinly veiled glee. 

The guard bowed. The guy was in his mid-forties, muscular, and stone-faced. Aleks supposed it made sense that the guards would be kept well-fed. Starving _them_ would be asking for a revolt. _Keep them happy and they’ll do whatever you ask to maintain their cushy positions,_ a cynical side of Aleks provided.

“It has been done. The full complement of guards has been put on active duty. Several street rats have been detained who were spreading word of the…” and here the guard drawled the word, _“invasion._ We have them in the stockade for questioning.”

“And the people?” the Master asked, plucking a grape from a stem and popping it into his mouth. His hand dropped to the woman on his left, fingers disappearing down her top. 

_He dishonors himself, and he dishonors his people._ Aleks could almost hear Thorin’s assessment and found himself agreeing, ill at the display. _The men here should feed him to the orcs._

“Every able male adult is being compelled into service to keep the peace.” 

As the Master and guard discussed ways of basically penning in the population – _Can’t have them dropping in productivity, now, can we?_ – Aleks startled at a faint tug on the tenuous link between himself and one of his animal friends. The fox, he identified, homing in upon the little guy. At Aleks’s query, the fox’s keen nose sniffed the wind, picking up a trace of a stench. 

_Warg,_ the fox identified. 

_How far?_ he asked the valiant little guy. 

He received back an impression of danger to the den. _Close._

“Look, you don’t have time for this,” Aleks broke in, having no qualms about interrupting. What could the Master do? Lock him up? _Puh-lease._ This was not the Elvenking’s Halls. If he could escape an underground dungeon, this place would be a breeze. 

Absolute silence.

“They are getting closer,” he told the Master. “Shouldn’t you at least, I don’t know, check before you dismiss my warning out of hand? Isn’t that what a _good_ leader would do?”

The silence turned cold and sharp. 

That was when Aleks was punched in the gut, hit over the head, and hauled off.

OoOoOo

They were no more than a block from the Master’s Hall when a horn sounded.

“Told you,” the younger guard informed the elder. 

“Shut up. You don’t know that.”

“That the Master is an idiot? I know it,” the younger said. “To the gates!” he roared to the men in the vicinity. 

They reached the gates and were instantly fighting for their lives. They’d been warned. Now, it was too late.

OoOoOo

As their group of conscripted volunteers was marched towards a pier near the main gates, the guards watching them issued orders to prevent any of the townsfolk from leaving. Fíli ground his teeth, furious. He’d not aid in this cowardly venture.

All of a sudden, horns blared, their peels desperate and short. The guard leading them stared towards the source of the clarion calls blankly. 

“Move,” Fíli hissed, kicking the man’s calf from behind. “To the gates.”

The guard startled, his throat convulsing in a swallow. With a jerky nod, he ordered, “Follow me,” to the rag-tag group. 

They arrived to find men being cut down. The gates had fallen. A few survivors raced from the scene, scattered and petrified. What families had inhabited the few structures nearest the gate were dead. The evidence lay in the bodies tossed aside like broken dolls, some on the street, some hanging half-in, half-out windows and doors. 

_Where is the town’s leadership?_ The guard leading this unit looked stupefied and ready to bolt, and the other conscripted groups fared no better. 

The orcs had not yet advanced, halting to finish off the injured defenders under their feet. Fíli quickly assessed the situation and decided trying to retake the gates would be suicide. The area was too spread out and defenders too few. They’d be overwhelmed. 

With a growl, Fíli vaulted on top of a crate and shouted, “To me, men of Lake-town! Defend your families! In the name of _Mahal, FORM A LINE!_ Prepare to meet the enemy!” 

After a terrifying moment of hesitation – _Mahal,_ if these men did not stand, the town would be massacred – men raced towards Fíli’s small group from all directions, the whites of their eyes showing. Many, upon sighting the enemy, looked ready to cut and run, but Bofur waded out front, mattock in hand. His example seemed to lend heart to the rest of the men for they joined him after the briefest hesitation, lining up across the wooden walkway. 

“We must hold here,” Fíli told his brother. 

“We’ll hold,” Kíli declared with a cocky grin, notching his bow. 

“Don’t do anything foolish.”

“Who, me?” 

The wink did _not_ reassure Fíli.

Drawing his own swords, Fíli joined the men positioning themselves beside Bofur. They had to hold as long as they could. This was the only walk that joined to the rest of the city to the shore – a bit of planning genius or a stroke of fool’s luck, only the founders of the town would know. 

“Prepare to meet the enemy! Stand your ground!” Fíli shouted as more men arrived and looked for guidance. _Oi._ It was up to him, he realized with a shake of the head. On the heels of that, he wished fervently for Gloin’s presence. That warrior’s carefree battle-lust would be right useful, for these men needed a bolster to their courage. 

The massive wave of orcs charged. 

“HOLD!” Fíli shouted again. If the men broke and ran, they were all doomed. 

More and more orcs came into view as the leading edge rushed towards them, their ranks tightening as they reached the bottleneck created by the walkway. No sign of Azog – Fíli felt a spurt of relief at that – but he doubted the Pale Orc would fail to show.

“Is there room for one more?” a clear, smooth voice asked. 

Fíli’s gaze left the oncoming charge long enough to glance over. An elf? Not just any elf, he realized. It was none other than the elfess Kíli had taken such a liking to. “Fíli, at your service,” he said shortly.

“Tauriel, at yours,” the red-headed elfess said in rush. 

“Are you good with that bow?” he asked.

“Do dwarves love mithril?” she responded tartly.

“Fall back near my brother,” he ordered. “Take charge of the archers.”

“Consider it done,” she shouted to be heard over the orc’s yells. “Where is Lady Hwinneth?” she asked, already pushing her way through the men’s ranks to the rear.

“Hidden away,” Fíli called back to her, lifting his weapons. No more time for words as the orcs’ front lines crashed into theirs. The men on either side of Fíli cried out as orc weapons found purchase, but they fought. By Durin, they _fought._

_We’re going to lose this point._ It was inevitable. His sole goal now was to delay it. Give the women and children a chance to slip away on their boats. 

An orc slammed into him hard enough to shove him into Bofur. The toymaker pressed back, stabilizing Fíli’s balance. Orcs leaped over the first line of defenders, engaging those behind and destroying their formation. 

_“Tighten up,”_ Fíli shouted as he parried a brutal blow that threatened to yank the weapon right from his hands. “Hold!”

Time blurred, and Fíli’s world compressed. It became a never ending stream of orcs…and survival.

OoOoOo

“Archers to me!” Tauriel shouted from behind the lines of defenders. Men rallied to her call, bows in hand, and she found herself next to a familiar dwarf.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away,” he said with a wink, his grin not obscured by a heavy beard. 

“Nice,” she said, stifling a smirk. Then louder, “Aim high. Do not engage the orcs closing with our defenders!” They could not afford to lose even one of their force to friendly-fire. 

“Welcome to the party,” Kíli told her as he began to fire. 

Finally, she thought, _finally_ it was time to face the enemy.

OoOoOo

The orcs were here.

Dog-paddling beneath Jarel’s house, I could hear the distant sounds of orcish screams and the clash of battle. _Bofur, you great fool, you had better keep safe._ Abandoning my post, for the dwarves would not be back anytime soon, I switched to a side stroke, Aleks’s bag slung over my neck and one shoulder, and Bofur’s staff awkwardly tucked under one arm. 

_Aleks?_

Footsteps pounded overhead as I passed beneath a boardwalk. Men’s voices rose in fear and panic. 

“Hurry,” a woman cried, followed closely by a child’s, _“Mama!”_

Pandemonium. 

I was the cause of this. The orcs were looking for me. Maybe. _Probably, Daphne. Don’t be an idiot._ What had I brought upon these people? _I should leave._ “Should” being the operative word, but I…couldn’t. People up there were fighting. Fleeing. Getting hurt. I wasn’t a doctor, but I did have some experience treating injuries. I had a duty to help them. 

_If_ I could find some way to avoid being recognized. 

A boat began to swing out. Was that…? It sure was. Jarel stood at the helm. An idea popped into my head, probably stupid and risky, but it beat nothing. Without a backward glance, I arrowed towards that barge, shouting at him for a rope.

OoOoOo

Aleks took the high ground. The guards escorting him to the brig had gotten one eyeful of the invading force and had promptly forgotten about him. They’d actually run to the fight. Aleks had blinked in disbelief. _I suppose that means they weren’t complete losers._

He shimmied up a copper stove chimney that had been bolted to an exterior wall. When he reached the top, he grabbed an eave and hauled himself up onto the roof. The master’s guards had confiscated his weapons, so a trip to the town’s armory was in order. 

_Which would be…_ He scanned the roof-line and then goggled at his first look at the screaming, foaming mob of orcs a handful of piers away. _Mahal, Aulë, if you are real, help._ There were way more than a thousand of them. The glow of their collective energies lit the land-bound section of Lake-town from all sides…and dotted the lake itself. Aleks’s jaw clenched. Orcs swam past the defending force, sneaking underneath the piers. 

_Daphne, if you can hear me, orcs in the water. Daph? Are you hearing me? There are ORCS in the WATER._

His gaze returned to the battle-zone. More and more men rushed to join the beleaguered defenders, defenders whose numbers included a trio of dwarves. 

Aleks flashed into full satyr and took off at a gallop, springing from roof to roof towards the armory.

OoOoOo

Blood dripped into Bofur’s eye from a gash he’d taken to the forehead. The lass would not be best pleased about that.

He blocked a spear’s point and ducked under a sword’s swing. Kicking out, he tripped the orc aiming for Fíli, granting the future King Under the Mountain a reprieve. 

_‘tis not going well for us, Bofur my lad._ He’d promised Daphne he’d return. He was praying to Mahal he’d not be made a liar, for the orcs seemed to be pouring down upon them in numbers he’d not seen since before the walls of Khazad-dum. The men’s faces around him, all were grim and disheartened. _Keep them going. Keep them trying._ Prodding his lips into a grin, he drawled loudly, “Never did see the like before. Orcs all lining themselves up, seeking our aid.”

Men gaped, but after a short glance, Fíli’s lips twitched as his blades found homes within the orc before him. He’d be playing along. Good. “Our aid? How do you figure that?” Fíli shouted back at him.

Bofur paused to exchange blows with a pair of orcs just begging to meet the business end of his mattock. He disarmed one and did the introducing requested to the other. Then, he called over, “Aye. They must be seeking to end their foul lives. They keep falling before my mattock without even a proper introduction.”

“If its death they want, I’d be happy to help them out,” a man said behind him with a growl. 

“So tell me, young Kíli, how many is that for you now?” Bofur called loud enough for many of the men to hear. 

The dwarf in question shouted back, “Are we counting? When did we decide to make a contest of this? I don’t remember agreeing to that, Bofur.”

“Excuses,” Bofur responded with equal volume. “Are you getting lazy, then? Gloin will be asking, mark my words.” He ducked beneath a sword’s slash. “So what is it, lad? You’ve got to make a good showing, mind. You’ve the family honor to uphold.”

“That would be _my_ job,” Fíli declared. The heir blocked one strike with crossed blades before dancing to the side, swords flashing out to dig into an exposed neck and arm. “Thirty-three. And you, toymaker?”

“Twenty-nine,” Bofur informed him, in actuality having no idea. 

Fíli shook his head and made a loud, wordless sound of mockery. “Are we getting slow in our dotage?”

“Dotage?” Bofur reacted with false insult. “Aye, and me hoping to be marrying soon.”

_“Marrying?”_ Kíli and Fíli’s disbelief was not feigned. 

Bofur grinned at the man beside him. “The young,” he commented. “Already, they have me one foot in the grave.”

The man laughed, and Bofur stepped in to cover him as the man’s wide swing of the sword left his back exposed. Bofur slew the orc seeking to take advantage of that oversight with a hit in the throat, then he pretended he’d not done a thing as the orc fell at the man’s feet. 

The man rotated his shoulders. “Fifty-five this season,” he boasted. “There’s still life in these old bones.”

“Aye,” he agreed. 

Such banter helped the men and dwarves both to keep their heads, Bofur thought, as minutes turned into a quarter hour and that turned into a half. Fíli, he noted from the corner of his eye, had directed a handful of reinforcements to positions along the piers, eyes upon the waters. 

Many men had been injured. With so little training, ‘twas a miracle more had not perished. Yet the cost of life was growing. Bodies and blood turned the wood underfoot slick and treacherous. Bofur near tripped a dozen times as the orcs pressed them back and back. Inch by inch, the defenders retreated, yet they called out encouragement to each other in defiance of the odds against them. 

“Sixty-two!” Kíli crowed. 

Bofur wondered if mayhap he should have been keeping count. He _did_ have a lass to impress, didn’t he? He’d gained her attention. Now he needed to win her. A dwarf should have something to brag about to offset the injuries he collected. 

Some object flew over his head and shattered among the enemy forces with a small explosion. Fire spread across the ground beneath orcish feet. The creatures bellowed and screamed with the pain of it. 

_Now where…?_ There. A short boy, it looked to be, with the messiest beginnings of a beard Bofur ever did see and a tight cap atop his head. The lad lit another of the bottles at his feet and threw it from a rooftop into the army of orcs. Where the bottle hit, flames lacquered the ground…and any orc who’d been hit by the projectile. 

Well, now. That was encouraging. Very encouraging indeed. 

Perhaps they would survive this after all.

OoOoOo

A man joined the archers, and the mood instantly changed. Tauriel recognized the cues - this was a man the archers were used to following. She immediately stepped down, letting him take control. She’d watch. If he looked to lead them into trouble, then and _only_ then would she buck the established chain of command.

“Torey, what are you doing?” the man barked. “You are no use to us there. Take the high ground.”

“Yes, Master Bard,” a lanky man responded, immediately jogging off towards a set of stairs. 

“Dugan, break off! We need more arrows and you are our man. The fletcher’s place - grab everything you can find.”

“Got it.”

Good. Free from constraints, Tauriel, too headed for the roofs. She could deal a lot more damage from there. As an afterthought, she tugged on the dwarf’s sleeve. “You’re wasted down here, too. Come with me.” 

“Always.”

Cheeky dwarf.

OoOoOo

“What do you think you are doing, raiding the Master’s cellars?” a man bellowed, glaring down at me and my companions with meaty fists on his hips.

Bain shoved him out of the way, and Lake-town’s teen population thrust him from the room. What, was he going to call the guards? _Good luck with that._ Most had abandoned their posts to either hide, run, or (for a very few of them) join the effort to save their city. That these teens had been left behind had outraged me when I’d discovered it. Jarel had departed with his boat overflowing with people, but others had not been so generous. Too many boats departed mostly empty, their occupants betraying no concern for neighbors, not even the kids. 

_Jerks._

“Every bottle,” Bard’s son ordered. At sixteen years of age, the guy was tall, cocky and scary in his self-assurance. Bard’s mini-me, I imagined. “Grab them all,” he added.

We collected bottles in our arms, in crates, and piled them on small wood wagons. Big bottles, small bottles, it didn’t matter. A hundred or so Molotov Cocktails, coming up. Bain had loved the demo of the two bottles I’d doctored – both found in an abandoned house with some haste – and had quickly taken charge of this new effort. 

“I need to set up an infirmary,” I told the teen as we carted the stuff down plank streets to a section of town close to the front but not so close we’d get pelted by arrows. Thus far, the orcs hadn’t used any, not at street level, but no one was betting on that lasting.

_Sauron must really have threatened a fate worse than death to keep them all in line like that._ I’d have expected at least one orc bowman to let loose by now. Their reticence seemed further indicator to me that they wanted _someone_ taken alive. _Gulp._ I tried not to dwell on it.

My disguise hadn’t fooled Bard for a second when I’d run into him, nor his son, but so far, they were in the minority. No one else recognized me as female, much less as anything other than a slender dwarf. But, _yikes,_ did the fake beard - a messy construct, to say the least - itch like a witch’s zit. The glue plastering the donated men’s whiskers to my face would probably leave a nice, low-level burn. It sure hadn’t been meant for facial use. 

_Next time, I tell Aleks to pack theater makeup in his bug-out bag._ I smirked, visualizing Aleks’s disbelief at the suggestion. 

_At least this got me out of skirts._ With the help of Hydi and Freija, I’d donned a boy’s knickers and loose jerkin in record time, though the two had been a bit scandalized over the whole thing. I’d bound my breasts, not something I never wanted to repeat, and had hidden my hair in a boy’s skull cap. I didn’t quite melt in among the townsfolk, but with any luck, the orcs wouldn’t notice me. 

Bain nodded as he organized the other teens into an assembly line. When he was satisfied that they needed no more direction, he urged me a little space away towards what had once been an open market. Drab open-faced tents lined the wide, planked square. 

“Perfect,” I said, trying to remember to keep my voice low. “I’ll prep. Send any injured this way.”

“Will do,” the kid said, tugging on a cowlick of hair that refused to settle. “You need anything, holler.”

Like he had to tell me twice. While on the boat, I’d had the strangest feeling come over me that there were orcs in the water. I hadn’t seen any, but the conviction refused to budge. I’d mentioned it to Bard before he’d left, and he’d said he’d take care of it. Since then, some defenders had been spread out upon the piers, but really, they could only cover so much. _Everything_ was accessible by water here. Well, everything but the Master’s palace. 

The worry niggled in the back of my mind. If the orcs in the water were not attacking our unprotected backsides, what were they doing? 

_Not my problem._ I dashed the train of thought as a couple of teens half-carried my first patient to me not a minute later. The comatose man’s feet dragged on the ground, and his chin touched his chest. I gagged at the sight of his back. Horrible gouges crisscrossed his flesh so deeply that bone was visible in no less than three places. 

Missing gloves or not, I’d be stitching this man up. _Please live,_ I urged. _Hang on for me._

“I need gloves,” I told one teen. “If you can find any.” Otherwise, my fingers were going to be blistered and useless after this.

The teen, a girl this time with black hair and freckles, startled at my request but nodded. “I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks.” I spilled out the contents of Aleks’s first aid kit at my side and tore the rest of the man’s jerkin off of him. He looked like meatloaf from shoulder to shoulder and nape to buttocks. I pressed a cloth down to try and get the bleeding to slow, but it was saturated, blood squishing around my fingers in a second flat. 

_I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this._ Concocting herbal remedies and treating burns and minor wounds in no ways prepared me for this. 

_Who else is there?_

Answer: no one. 

_Have mercy._

Swallowing back nausea, hands trembling, I got to work.

OoOoOo

Aleks found the armory doors standing wide open and rushed inside. Men had given him a wide berth on the way over, gaping at his hooves and antlers. He paid them no mind. He wasn’t an orc. Hopefully, that would be enough to stop someone from shooting first and asking questions later.

He could have howled in frustration when he got a load of the interior. It was mostly empty with rejected odds and ends littering the floor. There was a crossbow, a heavy, clunky-looking monstrosity, but he’d never used one before. Swearing and kicking broken spears and arrows from his path, Aleks grabbed it and slung it across his back, hoping its cracked leather strap would hold. Next, he collected any bolts he could find on the floor and in the discarded quivers. That, he had more luck with. He thrust them into a quiver and slung that next to the crossbow.

When Aleks turned his attention towards the melee weapons, he found them just as picked-over. There was an over-sized battle ax that a human-sized Gloin would probably drool over, a spear with a broken butt, a couple dull-looking short swords and a spiked ball suspended by a chain from a club-like base. _Dude._ With a leery look at the thing, he settled for the swords, testing their edges and raining epithets down upon their caretaker’s head. 

_At least I can use them to block and parry._ He might not be able to dish out the damage, but they might keep his organs where he liked them: inside. Sheathing them at each hip, he ran from the squat building and headed towards the sounds of battle. 

_Please be okay, guys._

Aleks jogged, unwilling to spend himself before reaching the conflict. His eyes were in constant movement, searching both rooftops and the waters for signs of enemies. 

That’s when he saw a kid running down a plank street unaware of the orcs trailing him. It ticked him off. They were preying on a _kid?_

Aleks changed trajectory and followed, returning to human to silence his hooves. On bare feet, he padded down the street, moving the crossbow around to his front. He fumbled to load an arrow into its…its…what the heck was it called?! _It,_ a part of him pounced. Load an arrow into _it._ The bolt kept slipping, and Aleks’s temper kept climbing. He was tempted to hurl the thing underfoot and smash it to smithereens. He did not have time for this. The kid didn’t.

But then, the kid whipped around and made a face at the orcs, sticking out his tongue and wagging hands with thumbs to temples – he was _mocking them?_ – and raced away with new speed. The orcs tore after him, abandoning any efforts at stealth. 

Like the kid had wanted? 

Curious now, Aleks followed with less urgency, rounding a couple turns and heading deeper towards the central part of Lake-town. It happened so fast, he was caught completely off guard. The orcs were running down the street when dozens of crude spears came flying down from rooftops. 

In two seconds flat, the orcs were down and dying on the boardwalk. Aleks whistled silently, brows high. He had to hand it to the people here. He’d thought them too beaten down to put up much of a fight, but they sure proved him wrong. 

Heartened, Aleks corrected his course and ran towards his friends.


	41. Assault upon Lake-town, II

### Chapter 40

Fíli mopped sweat from his brow with one hasty swipe of the arm. His swords never gained a rest. It mattered not how many of the orcs he cut down, there always seemed to be more to take their places. 

Retreat. Then retreat again. The sun set, the stars appeared, and Lake-town’s defenders lost more ground. They’d run out of the exploding “cocktails” the youth of Lake-town had created. They’d run out of arrows. Men had died. A _lot_ of men had died, and still the orcs came. 

_Mahal._ He was tired, but he could not rest or back down. The men looked equally to him and the man, Bard. Neither could betray signs of weakness. 

“Prince,” he heard Bard call and risked a short glance over one shoulder. “Done,” Bard declared.

_Good._ The wounded had been moved. Again. It was the third time, and they suffered casualties each time. Some were just too injured to survive such handling.

“Fall back,” Fíli shouted to the contingent around him. Men took up the call, “Fall back! _Fall back!”_

Fíli retreated, one foot after the other, keeping pace with his fellows, his swords never still. He was tiring, and his sword-work was turning sloppy. He gritted his teeth as Bofur saved him from a thrust of a javelin.

“We’re being herded,” Bofur commented. 

It was then Fíli noticed. “Where is your mattock?”

Bofur swung a crude wooden club and grinned at him. Fíli’s appreciation for the toymaker, already high, flew higher. “Aye, I see you eyeing my new friend with envy,” the toymaker drawled. “Get a club o’ your own.”

Fíli snorted, exhaustion lifting a fraction at the silliness. “They keep sending fresh orcs at us,” he said, grunting as a mace slammed in his direction. Fíli barely parried the brutal hit.

Bofur nodded, his ridiculously odd-shaped club slamming into the mace-wielder’s arm, breaking bone upon contact. “They have forces to spare, and that is the sad truth.” A pause before he grinned. “Of course, they need them. Never did see such a pitiful group o’ fighters in my life.”

The orcs nearest them took umbrage at that, snarling insults as they bore down upon them all the harder. For a short time, Fíli had no space for anything but his sword work.

Serious eyes connected with his as they passed, and then Bofur whirled, bringing his club up in an arc with his full body weight, catapulting it into an orc’s neck and breaking it instantly. 

Uncle had told him, Fíli thought, time and again, that morale was everything. Lose that and the fight was over. But they’d lost so many people. Too many. Though the citizens of Lake-town had conducted themselves with valor and ingenuity, it hadn’t been enough. They’d lost a full half of their original starting number if not more. 

“It could be worse,” Bofur said. 

“Can it? Can it really, my friend?” Fíli bit out lowly, feeling keenly his failure to lead these men to victory. 

Bofur smiled over at him. “What is this my eyes be seeing? A Durin, giving up?” he asked with dramatic disbelief. 

“No,” Fíli growled, straightening his stance and kicking out at a foe, collapsing the orc’s knee under him. Fíli quickly ended the brute before he could recover. “We will never surrender,” he added louder. The men closest to him called out in agreement. This was no cheer – they’d passed the point of optimism long ago – but a cry of defiance, a roar that said they’d fight to their last breath and go down Free Men. These men, these survivors, had done as courageously as any dwarf. 

“Can the injured swim out of here?” Fíli called back over one shoulder. He’d never felt the weight of his warrior’s braids so keenly, the obligation heavier than he’d ever dreamed when imagining valiant, glorious battles in his future as he’d earned them. 

_Uncle should be here._

He knew full well the whys behind Thorin’s departure, but at that moment, if Mistress Hunt’s books were true, a dragon was stirring. Had Bilbo yet exchanged words with the beast? Did the dwarves even now race through Erebor igniting the forges in a desperate attempt to battle the winged terror? 

“No,” a man – Geffin, Fíli sluggishly put a name to – told him. “Couple of men tried that not an hour ago. They’ve squeezed us into this area like a press. We can rush them, Prince, but most of us won’t make it.”

_Prince._ It had been Bofur who had insisted upon it, telling him that the men would take heart knowing the Crown Prince of Erebor had remained behind to lead them. It had been Bofur who first called Bard the Lord of Dale for the same reason. 

Another surge of orcs. Fíli again braced himself to meet it.

OoOoOo

_We’re being penned like animals._

Bard noted it and fumed even as he called the retreat from the streets of Glassblower’s Row. Pier by pier, they lost their beloved home. The dwarf prince and his men had made the orcs pay for each inch of Main the orcs gained while Bard had commanded the forces attempting to keep the orcs contained to that one primary tributary through town. 

Both efforts had failed. 

Sigrid and Tilda had escaped. He’d seen the boat leave with his very eyes, heading west. It gave him a measure of peace. Still, his throat burned with frustration and loss. A second home lost to them, again in one day. Fate, it seemed, had a vicious sense of irony. 

_There were survivors before. There will be again._ The men would survive. They would rebuild. 

He didn’t believe he’d be there to witness it.

OoOoOo

‘twas over. 

They had lost. 

Bofur held his club in a punishing grip, waiting for the final strike. Orc archers lined the square, caging them in. As one, the orcs drew arrows and notched them, bow strings drawn taut. 

He left his place. The lass was here. Lord Bard’s son had informed him hours past that she’d been tending to the wounded. If this was to be his end, he’d die by her side and be happy for it. 

“What are they waiting for?” more than one man muttered as Bofur pressed between them, seeking…seeking. 

“Bofur!” he heard and responded before the summons had ended. Pushing and shoving, he broke through the wall of men to where the remaining wounded had been laid down in three small lines. A diminutive, bearded form barreled into him, and he did not understand until the face looked up at him, revealing green eyes under a tight cap. 

He hoisted her into his arms and squeezed her with no intention of letting go. “My wee, smart love,” he whispered into her ear. Then he buried his face in her neck, smiling to detect a trace o’ maple. _Och,_ but he’d meant to question her about that. 

But their time was up. He squeezed her tight and waited for the barrage he knew was coming.

OoOoOo

Aleks stood beside Fíli facing the archers. Opposite Fíli, Kíli stood beside the elf lady he admired so.

 _Daph?_ Aleks knew she was here, but he hadn’t seen her. No time. There’d been time for nothing but fight, fight, and fight some more. His body was beyond spent, and he imagined most of the guys standing here were in the same condition.

“Fíli,” he said, his voice raspy and dry. “It has been an honor. I would have followed you when your turn came.”

The blond dwarf’s throat convulsed. He nodded once. “The honor is mine.” Light eyes turned to meet his. “Uncle would have been proud of you.”

_Gah,_ Aleks was going to bawl if they kept this up. “Stop. Really. I don’t want to go down crying like a girl, dude.”

Kíli snorted. Fíli had one hand clamped to his brother’s shoulder, and Kíli leaned in, wrapping an arm around his brother’s back. “I always knew we’d go together,” Kíli said. “I’d have it no other way, Brother.”

Fíli gave another, single nod. 

Yet as time stretched on, the order to fire never came. The orcs held weapons aimed, the defenders waited. “What do you suppose they are waiting for?” Aleks asked from the corner of his mouth. 

“Their leader?” Bard theorized. 

Aleks could have fainted. Daph had warned him how in the books, Azog had slain both Fíli and Kíli. His mind painted a gruesome picture, a replay with a different set of circumstances and setting. It shouldn’t matter. They were all toast. They would die, all of them. But it _did_ matter. He didn’t want Azog killing the Durin brothers. But how was he supposed to do anything about it now?

“Get out of view,” he murmured to Fíli. 

Fíli glared at him in outrage. “I will not hide.”

“You will if it means Azog doesn’t torture your brother to death before your eyes,” Aleks bit out, doing his own glaring. Fíli blanched. “He may not be here,” Aleks said urgently. “But if he is, he has an ax to grind, you know he does. Don’t let him play with you two.” Lower, “Please,” he voice breaking. “I couldn’t bear to watch it. I’m begging you, man. We all go down together. Don’t let them pick you out.”

Fíli stared for the longest time. “You know something about my future. Kíli’s future.”

Aleks didn’t flinch from the accusation there. “I made a promise. I will _never_ let it happen.”

An almost imperceptible nod of the head, and Fíli dragged his brother with him into the cluster of men. 

Tauriel moved to his side, her brow lifted. “If we survive this,” she murmured, “you will tell me what you know of the brothers and their fates.”

Fair enough. Aleks nodded wearily. 

About four minutes later, Azog appeared. Tauriel hissed under her breath, her gaze touching Aleks’s fleetingly before returning to face straight ahead. Azog strode into view like a freaking king. He wore that bladed arm prosthesis and dragged something in his wake. 

No, not something, Aleks realized. Some _one._ The Master of Lake-town himself. 

With a careless flick of the wrist, the Pale Orc deposited the obese Master at his feet where he blubbered and begged for mercy. Not once did the Master plead for his people or the city. No, he begged for his life, offering up anything and everything. 

“You,” Azog growled in his guttural voice. “Tell me where the female Hwinneth hides.” 

_Mahal._ They were after Daphne? Everything in Aleks froze. No. Oh no. A flash of insight told him what must have happened. Thranduil had lost. How much did the orcs know? Worse, what did Sauron know? 

“H-Hwinneth?” the Master stuttered, trembling uncontrollably. Men all around Aleks muttered in disgust. They had fought and paid with their lives to stand against these monsters, yet here was their leader, cowering after hiding all day. “I-I don’t know a Hwinneth.”

Azog’s bladed arm lashed out and blood ran from the Master’s chest. It was a surface wound – Azog was only playing – yet the Master screamed as if his manhood had been chopped off. _He lost that long ago,_ Aleks thought in disgust. 

“The female who traveled with the dwarves,” Azog snarled. “Where is the female?”

OoOoOo

_“Where is the female?”_

Bofur had me in a grip tight enough to bruise, and I clung to him. A brave woman would give herself up to save the town. _A smart woman who knows where the RING is,_ another part of me realized, _can’t afford to be taken alive._

Heaven help me, I stayed where I was. Knowing I had to. Knowing I shouldn’t. I gripped Bofur tighter and tighter and hid my face in his neck.

OoOoOo

Aleks could see the moment two plus two clicked and coughed up four in the Master’s head. His eyes widened, his skin blanched, and he began to babble, lying his head off. “She-- She _left,”_ he wheezed. “Yes, she left with the dwarves days ago. Following Oakenshield.”

The orc’s weapon pressed against the Master’s fleshy neck. “She is with Oakenshield?”

“Yes!” the sod cried, all but peeing in his velvet pantaloons. “He keeps her close, you know. I knew she must be valuable, but--”

The weapon sliced through his neck with no warning. The rotund body collapsed back upon the wooden floor and twitched. Twice. 

“I am finished here,” Azog said with a wicked gleam to his eye.

_This is it. Man, don’t let me die badly._

A boom in the distance drew everyone’s eyes to the Lonely Mountain. 

_You have got to be kidding me._

Another boom and a couple flaming lights appeared and arced down into the lake where they sputtered out. _Hello._ Aleks had no idea what that was, but he had a sinking suspicion the Company’s efforts to rethink their kill-strategy where Smaug was concerned had failed. 

The dwarves were in Erebor and Smaug…

“Oakenshield,” Azog said. 

_Here it comes._ Azog opened his mouth to order his orcs to fire – Aleks could see his lips forming the word – when another voice, one of ringing authority and majesty, called out first.

_“Hain dago!”_

Arrows rained down, and Aleks gaped. He hadn’t even noticed the elves’ arrival, but he was sure noticing now. Upon rooftop after rooftop, elves threw off their cloaks, revealing their presences and rising to stand straight, firing their bows without pause. Men shouted, lifting their weapons in tribute. 

Fíli burst to the head of their group and raised his sword over his head. “Men of Lake-town, _charge!”_

OoOoOo

The Pale Orc snarled at the rooftops until he noticed the blond dwarf leading the charge. The avarice that filled the creature’s face left no doubts of his intentions. Azog wanted that one killed, which told Thranduil who the dwarf must be.

Thranduil permitted himself a small smile. _How you will hate knowing you owe me a debt, Oakenshield._ Drawing both swords, the Elvenking kneed his elk into a gallop. His blades flashed to either side as his noble steed hurled orcs from its path with its antlers. 

Azog closed with the dwarf heir, their weapons locking. What the orc said to the dwarf, Thranduil did not hear, but it enraged the dwarf. “Never!” the dwarf hollered. 

_Ah, no. Do not lose your temper, young one._ Too late, the dwarf recognized his peril. Azog capitalized upon his distraction and sliced out with his other weapon, the bladed arm. The heir jumped backwards, but the blade tip caught him, slicing across the belly.

_“Fíli!”_ more than one voice cried - including one that Thranduil recognized. Hwinneth was here. When a small form raced to the dwarf’s side, falling to its knees, he knew. Her body bent over the injured heir, blocking Azog. The filthy, bearded creature looked nothing like his Hwinneth, but disguised or not, Thranduil recognized the daughter of his heart by the tilt of her head, the movements of her body. 

The orc’s weapon rose, began to arc downward.

Thranduil was off his mount in a heartbeat. _Move, Hwinneth._ He threw himself at the enemy, cutting down orcs that dared cross his path with hard, brutal swings. He had no mercy, plowing through orcs with swift, deadly efficiently. He was not going to reach her in time. From the corners of his eyes, he knew his personal Royal Guard intervened to spare him time and again as he cut through the orcs with reckless abandon. He’d failed her before. He could not allow it to happen again.

A dwarf materialized in the sword’s path, his club slamming into Azog’s sword and forcing it away from Hwinneth and the heir. They exchanged a series of blows, each one chipping away at the dwarf’s crude weapon. The dwarf did not surrender an inch, refusing to budge even when Azog’s strikes threatened to disarm him. 

Thranduil cut down the last orc impeding him and attacked the Pale Orc, driving the foul creature a yard, then two from his intended target. Thranduil wasted no time in conversation. His sole focus was upon destroying the creature before him. Azog would not be allowed to live. 

Their swords clanged as they collided and then scraped against each other. Thranduil found the orc a more than skilled foe, able to parry with both sword and bladed arm weapon. But if Azog thought the Elvenking would be an easy conquest, he was swiftly disabused of the notion. The orc snarled, his frustration evident. 

“Kill the dwarves!” Azog bellowed in Black Speech. “Kill the d--” 

Thranduil’s booted foot connected with Azog’s gut, driving the air from his lungs. “You will not touch them, filth.” He would not allow it. Not while his Hwinneth was surrounded by them. Not while she _looked_ like one.

Azog responded with a series of lightning-quick attacks, and Thranduil danced around them, turning them aside rather than attempting to counter the savage strength behind them. His Royal Guard stalked the Elvenking’s foe from the rear, but Thranduil signaled him off with a cold twitch of the lips. 

This one was his. 

Elvenking and orc circled, testing each other with short, abrupt strikes. Azog had the reach, but barely. And the superior strength. It would avail him naught, Thranduil thought, for Thranduil had the agility and speed. 

Their blades flashed out in a blur. Other combatants pressed in all around them, men and dwarves engaging the orcs. Whistles filled the air - archers. The sounds of war dominated, the ring of metal punctuated by cries of pain and rage. The iron tang of blood came heavy with each breath. 

“Weak king of a dying people,” Azog mocked, showcasing blackened teeth. “Why do you fight? These creatures mean nothing to you.”

Thranduil feinted towards Azog’s weak side - the replacement arm had shorter reach. As the orc reacted, Thranduil’s other sword swung low. Only a hasty, awkward leap saved the orc from losing a leg. 

Azog growled, recovering his balance. “My Master had you crawling like a worm. Do you hear his voice, pathetic elf?”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. Never would he be Sauron’s pawn again. He’d not allow it. If it meant severing his connection with the woods and rending his own heart with it, he determined to do just that. _Never again._

The Elvenking exploded in a new burst of strikes - hard, sweeping and relentless. One, Azog was able to deflect. It scraped along the orc’s pale cheek. The other dug into the orc’s calf, not enough to hamper his movements but it would bleed. Weaken him. _Slow_ him.

The orc bellowed in fury. “We will find the creature you tried to hide, _elf.”_ Azog licked his lips in a grotesque fashion. “I will enjoy playing with her.” A low chuckle.

A part of Thranduil noted that the orc was trying to gain a rise from him, and he admired the skill with which the creature used words to wound. The rest of him saw red. Thranduil darted in, one sword seeking an opening as the other remained in shielding position. “You?” he scoffed. “You will not leave this battlefield alive, _orc.”_

There was no further time for the orc to wield his vile tongue. Thranduil pressed him hard, forcing him to retreat time and again. The orc’s fury climbed until it matched the king’s, but still he could not stand against Thranduil’s barrage. Desperation appeared in the creature’s dark eyes, and Thranduil permitted himself one small smile.

Azog riposted, leaped back and kicked a barrel between them. He shouted a single command in Black Speech: _“Light it!”_

All around Lake-town, orcs sprang from the night-shadowed waters, torches igniting as they leaped onto the piers. 

_They laid in wait for this very moment._ Smart. Smarter than he’d given the orcs credit for orchestrating. _Or do I have you to thank for this, Sauron?_ The orcs would have had to keep the torches dry, ready for the instant they were needed. 

The full scope of the planned attack became clear within a heartbeat. Every surface the firebrands kissed burst into flame as if the wood had been doused with oil in preparation. Likely, he mused, it had. With a deafening whoosh, Lake-town was engulfed.

Thranduil abandoned his attack long enough to yank an injured, disoriented elf from the fire’s path. Azog did not hesitate - the orc jumped over a stack of crates and leaped through a wall of flame into Long Lake. 

Thranduil rotated his swords in helpless fury. In every direction, orcs abandoned the fight and followed Azog’s example, splashing into the nearest bit of lake they could get to.

Leaving Lake-town wreathed in flames.

OoOoOo

_Crack!_

A wooden post snapped into two, spilling burning wood embers in all directions as the awning it had supported crashed down onto the boardwalk. I could hear Bard shouting orders and Thranduil commanding his elves into action as I pressed both hands to Fíli’s belly, blood seeping past the material of a cloak an elf had given me to use for bandaging. 

“Hold on Fíli,” I said. 

The air around us shimmered with heat. Within a minute, soot and ash dusted the air, raining down along with burning embers that seared the skin upon impact. 

Bofur dumped Aleks’s bag at my feet. He must have tossed all of the remaining first aid supplies in there in a hurry. I coughed against my shoulder, trying not to breath in the thick air, and said, “Blue capped vial.”

His hat bobbed up and down, and he dug through the bag. Kíli dropped down beside his brother, lips pinched. His eyes raced to mine, welling with tears.

“We won’t lose him,” I shouted above the monstrous roar of the fire devouring the town. 

Bofur thrust the vial into my hands, and I bit off the rubber stopper, hurriedly scanning my toymaker for signs of damage. Spitting the stopper out to the side, I upended the vial over the gash across Fíli’s abdomen. 

It was bad. The fact was, I wasn’t sure we wouldn’t lose Fíli. Azog could have coated his blade with poison. The blade could have nicked a whole host of organs. With all the blood, I couldn’t really see how deep the wound penetrated. 

Flames licked their way up the boardwalk, crawling ever closer to our position. Sweat began to bead my forehead and collect beneath my “beard”. I eyed the oncoming fire once, jerking my gaze away. 

_Hurry, Daphne,_ I told myself. _Hurry._

OoOoOo

Aleks pushed and shoved his way back towards his family, coughing from the smoke. Bursting through the last ranks of men, he spotted Bofur and Kíli both kneeling beside Fíli. A thin boy was bent over the heir and… Was that blood?

“Fíli, you idiot,” he said, dropping down on Fíli’s other side. He shot the boy a look, wondering why anyone was letting him tend to Thorin’s heir, and then did a double-take to discover it was Daphne. Was that supposed to be a beard?

Her answering expression was grim. Her brows pinched together briefly in an uncertain fashion. 

“I told you to stay away from him,” Aleks continued to the injured dwarf. Fíli smiled weakly. Wood popped loudly nearby, and Aleks jumped. He swore under his breath. The heat escalated to stifling levels. “Can’t we get him out of here?” he asked Daph in a shout, the fire’s roar becoming deafening. 

She scanned the area, and he saw immediately what she did. Flames surrounded them. “How?” she hollered back. 

A huge crash drew all eyes skyward. A bell tower crumbled, knocked over. The bell clanged and donged all the way down until it splashed into the lake.

Only it wasn’t the fire that had done it.

Smaug had arrived.


	42. Heeere's Smaug!

### Chapter 41

Smaug roared as he executed a wide circle overhead. Ominous, throaty chuckles rained down, enough to liquefy Aleks’s knees. From the corner of his eye, Aleks noted when the Elvenking stepped beside him, face frigid and severe as he, too, stared upwards. Aleks’s former antipathy didn’t have a chance against the terror he felt upon his first look at the dragon as it arrowed its way towards where the gates had once stood. 

“What’s he doing?” he asked himself. Why had the dragon not immediately attacked?

“He scouts us,” the Elvenking said, his voice oddly hollow. 

“It is time to leave,” Bard said. “We take refuge in the lake.” 

Aleks’s jaw clenched. They’d suffer burns, probably bad ones, just reaching the lake. He looked around wildly for any safe route off of the large wooden platform that formed this square, but the orcs had done a bang-up job of it. A sea of flames caged them. 

Still, as Smaug wheeled around, a group of men fled, risking the hot fires. Flames immediately licked them, setting fire to clothing and hair. More than one did not survive the attempt. Bard looked ready to order everyone after them anyway when Smaug’s steady loop overhead ended. The dragon abruptly dipped down with a cackle and snatched a swimmer right out of the water. With a tremendous flap of his glittering, metallic wings, he soared back into the air. 

“Do not leave so soon, men of Lake-town,” the dragon crooned. “The festivities have only begun.” 

The screams. Aleks thought he’d never forget the poor dude’s screams when Smaug released him above a building engulfed in flames. The man’s body slammed through a wall and fell, burning and broken, out of sight.

Almost mechanically, Aleks raised his voice to say, “Bofur, tell me it could be worse.” Facing orcs had not unsettled him like this. Aleks watched as the dragon snatched another man from the lake’s bosom. This time, the guy had been underwater, out of easy reach. It didn’t matter. The flames snapping the air all around them seemed to chortle in mockery as this one, too, screamed back to earth.

Fíli, Kíli, Daph - they all turned towards the toymaker, their eyes wide and faces pale. 

Bofur managed to grin. “Ah, a challenge now.”

“Yeah. You got anything?” Aleks asked. His chest tightened as Smaug executed a graceful turn and aimed right for their position. 

_Run. Run now,_ instinct demanded. But where?

_“Eh,”_ Bofur said, jumping to his feet fast. “You have no imagination, Master Aleks,” he said, shooting him a tired, fleeting grin as he hurriedly attacked the floor a couple feet away, stomping on it and ripping wood out of the way. His urgency totally belied his casual jesting. “We could be covered in oil.”

“Or tied to a spit,” Daph chimed in, the faintest grin blossoming on her face. 

Bofur beamed at her. “Aye, or that.” Then with another glance at the sky, his smile vanished. “But I’m thinking you’ll get your worse if you don’t help me here.”

The Elvenking said something in elvish, and his people all attacked the floor beneath them, wrenching intact boards free and tossing them aside with haste. Holes appeared and grew larger beneath their assault.

“He’ll snatch us from the water,” Aleks pointed out, raising his voice further as the crackle of the burning town grew louder.

“Swim beneath the town, Aleks.” Bofur’s words rushed together as the dragon grew larger. “Stay where the dragon cannot readily find you.”

Smaug flew low, the sound of his inhale climbing above the roar of the flames and the alarmed cries of men and elves alike. Everyone not in immediate range of the lake hit the deck.

OoOoOo

Bofur abandoned his efforts as the dragon swooped low. With one arm, he lifted Daphne and tossed her into the narrow rift he’d created, dropping down above it and hearing her splash into the lake below. An immense thunder filled the air, familiar and, aye, dreadful to be sure. A blast of scorching heat flashed by, its burn remaining even after Smaug had passed.

Bofur regained his feet, his name ringing from the lass’s lips safe in the waters beneath him. As his eyes beheld the line of bodies arrayed through the middle of the square, as he witnessed the loss and pain before him, a sight so very familiar, his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the windlance. 

_‘tis past time for the beastie to die._ That was the long and short of it. By Bard’s hands or another’s, Bofur didn’t much care how it happened. He was tired of seeing this sight: bodies smoking and faces blistered. 

_I’m not liking this, Bofur my lad._ The windlance remained intact, a testament to dwarf craftsmanship sitting there atop a building burning like one of Mib’s sugar dumplings that had fallen into the fire. The lance could withstand it. Aye, it had been forged in hotter fires than this. But the building, now, that was not going to last, and they needed that lance. Smaug would not be easily felled without it. 

_He’ll not be felled easily with it._

The lass would not like this one bit. He’d promised her a future, and he’d keep that if he could, but this did not bode well for him. 

Smaug wheeled back around, and Bofur burst into motion. 

“Get the wounded into the lake!” the Elvenking shouted, beating him to the punch. 

Bofur spared a moment to hope the elf was free of the Dark Lord’s influence, for it looked like he’d be needing his aid. Bofur rushed to Fíli’s side and helped Kíli cart his brother to the same hole the lass swam beneath. 

“Your patient, my lass,” he told her with forced lightness as he and Kíli lowered Fíli by the arms. “You get out of here, hear me?”

Kíli jumped after his brother. As Bofur turned away, he heard Daphne’s, “Wait a sec. Where is he going? Bofur!” 

He grabbed another of the injured, eye upon the sky as Smaug loomed bigger, and found one of the woodland elves beside him, aiding him. Fast they worked, as fast as they could hauling man after man to holes in the flooring. They and a handful of others threw themselves down a second time as Smaug made another pass. When Bofur regained his feet, the task was done, for the rest of the wounded had been incinerated beyond hope of saving. 

Then that voice, that terrible voice from memory. “A _windlance,”_ Smaug declared with glee. Whipping around, Bofur watched, shoulders tightening, as the dragon wrenched the windlance free from its moorings and hurled it. The iron lance smashed through building after building until it disappeared from view, walls crumbling and sparks showering the air in its wake. 

Bofur rubbed his face with one hand, sluicing off sweat. His task just got a mite harder, he suspected. _Aye, well, it could be worse. Smaug could have stolen the lance altogether._

Scanning the platform, he saw the rest of the survivors quickly dropping down the tears they’d created. Aleks waited nearby for him, but it was an elf Bofur sought. “Elvenking!”

The elf halted, signaling another of his people to precede him. After flicking skyward in search of the dragon, the elf’s gaze turned to him, one brow lifted. 

“Ye take care of our lass, aye?”

The second brow joined the first. “Our?” Thranduil asked coolly.

“What?” came from Aleks. “What do you think you’re doing, Bofur?”

Bofur tugged upon one ear. “The windlance, Aleks. We’ll be needing the windlance.” Back to the king, “Ye get her out of here. Protect her. Aye?” 

A slow, regal incline of the head, and the Elvenking was gone, calling out, “Hwinneth,” in his commanding voice.

“You can’t be serious,” Aleks objected, grabbing his bag and trailing behind him as Bofur vaulted through a wall of flames onto a burning pier. The flames scorched him, but as Bofur slapped out any embers upon himself, he raced down the pier. Footsteps accelerated, catching up to him. Aleks, looking a mite bit singed himself. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Bofur shot Aleks a short, hard glance and read the determination there. The lass wouldn’t like this, either. He felt pressured to bow to necessity, however. Likely, he’d be needing the help if there was any chance to pull this off. “Aye, and I’ll be glad for it.” 

_Forgive me, my lass._

In unison, he and Aleks ran, jumping over patches of missing and burnt walkway. With a keen eye to the sky, Bofur made for the last structure he’d seen the windlance strike, hoping against hope that the weapon remained inside.

OoOoOo

I’d sent Kíli on ahead with Fíli and the other wounded, waiting…waiting…

_Bofur, where are you? Aleks?_

“Bofur, so help me, if you don’t get your butt down here, I _will_ tear your beard out!” I bellowed as I tread water. It was no use – I saw neither face nor hat of the toymaker. Fear began to crawl up and coil in my belly like an icy worm.

_Aleks?_

Where were they? 

_“Penneth.”_

At the Elvenking’s voice, I spun around in the water. One look, that’s all it took. His eyes were clear, concerned. How it had happened, I didn’t know, but he was back.

Grabbing his arm, I blurted to my _gwathadar,_ “They’re not here.” 

His hand came to my back, urging me forward, forcing me to swim hard. 

_“Gwathadar,_ please, I can’t leave. Bofur and Aleks aren’t…”

He stopped my words with one shake of the head even as he refused to let my pace slack. “Hwinneth,” he said, “they have gone for the windlance.”

What? _No._ For a moment, I froze, seriously considering fighting my way back, but the look on the Elvenking’s face kept me going. That look said someone needed to try it. It was too late to halt them, I knew that. And looking at the severe angles of Thranduil’s face, I knew that if I argued, he’d use force. 

Resentment flared. Died. Our eyes connected. Regret was there. Affection and caring. He understood. Even after all Aleks had done, he well knew I still loved my brother. He knew how difficult this was for me. 

_Stay safe. Both of you._ My finger smoothed across one panel of the wooden bracelet around my wrist.

The cold fact was that I couldn’t help them. I’d be nothing but a burden and a distraction. I could, however, help Lake-town’s survivors, so that was where my duty rested. I made myself swim away, vision all blurry and heart constricted. I tried to smother the nightmarish images of what they might face, but they returned with each stoke I made. 

At a signal from Thranduil, I took a deep breath, and we ducked down under the waves. From beneath, Lake-town looked like a cityscape as seen from an airplane at night, only above us in reverse. Brilliant flames lit up the pathways and platforms, highlighting the grid-like patterns that hadn’t been as clear when walking its streets. Branches fanned out in all directions, but they all originated from the same source, creating the rough impression of a central runway overhead. It delineated the safest path for us, and that is what we followed. 

I hadn’t realized it, but as we passed under some of the brighter glowing sections of burning town, more elves became visible. Dozens of them had waited for Thranduil. They loved him. Even after what he’d just come through, he held their absolute fealty. 

Just has he had mine. As he would _always_ have mine.

Thranduil kept close tabs on me. Before I could signal a need to surface, he was directing me to open waters between burning chunks of Lake-town. We would poke our heads up just enough to inhale, then we’d retreat as deeply and quickly as we could. 

This new world I found myself inhabiting was alien and sinister. Beneath us, this formless, massive black shadow covered the lake floor. The lake was too deep to catch even a glimpse of its bottom. Above us, a glowing spider’s web of right angles illuminated the top tiers of water…and the minefield we had to traverse in order to reach shore. 

Swim under the town. It had sounded so simple. In actuality, it was a far different thing. Debris ranging from a child’s wooden rattle to massive sections of wall rained – and sometimes crashed – down upon us from overhead. Some debris made its way towards the bottom of the lake like elevators in free-fall. But other stuff seemed stuck suspended in the waters, clogging up everything. Glass particles, thin slivers of wood, they all presented hazards we could not ignore but could do little to avoid. Churning currents meant something dismissed as safely out of harm’s way could come back and cut us in two a second later.

I saw it happen, once. (Once was enough.) It was fast, bloody, and deadly. In short, our “safe route” from danger was a nightmare in its own right. 

Thranduil kept close, and his Royal Guard stayed near to him. Time and again, we three surfaced together, grabbing stolen lungs-full of oxygen, and then dove back under, hoping to escape Smaug’s grasping claws. 

And they were grasping. More than once, Smaug’s entire body sluiced through the lake, diving deep and snatching a swimmer as he passed. I watched it happen a handful of times. For the record? Drowning by dragon was no better than any other method I’d seen. The fear in one poor teenager’s eyes, a teen I’d _worked with, blast it all,_ would be forever etched in my mind.

With no warning, the Elvenking halted, freezing me in place. He remained very, very still, his hair a golden halo about his head. Following his gaze, I swallowed. 

Smaug had returned once more. But this last time the dragon dove into the lake, he didn’t resurface. My heart yammered. Was he…swimming?

_Hunting._ Moving through the lake like an undulating eel. Prowling for victims.

There were way too many of us to choose from.

OoOoOo

Aleks and Bofur raced down Lake-town’s streets. Aleks could barely see, the air was so hot. He was reduced to viewing the world through cracked eyelids. His skin felt broiled. Each inhale threatened to roast him from the inside out. Bofur didn’t seem to notice the heat, but Aleks’s clothes were plastered to him in minutes, drenched with sweat.

He loaded the Ruger on the run, shoving extra ammo in his pants pockets. He was totally aware of the danger and worried with each panting step about when the bullets would start making like popcorn, taking bits of him with them. 

Time and again, they met with dead ends. Too many streets were gone. Others were burning, sinking nightmares. It was _The Towering Inferno_ – an old flick he’d caught during a bout of insomnia – meets _Titanic._

“Do you think it’s still up here?” Aleks asked breathlessly as he trailed behind the toymaker, his steps flagging as heat leeched his body of energy.

Bofur powered through another sheet of flames, slapping at his coat where it began to smoke. “We’ll be knowing soon.”

A pause. “Tell me it could be worse than this.”

The sooty backdrop made Bofur’s grin look weirdly white. “Aye, it could be worse. Smaug could have arrived in the midst of our fight with the orcs.”

“Or the Lonely Mountain could have turned volcano and done us all in?” Aleks said with exasperation. 

“Aye, now you’re getting into the spirit of it,” the dwarf laughed. 

Ha-ha. _Wait a sec._ “Erebor _isn’t_ in a dormant volcano. Right?”

The dwarf winked at him. Winked! 

“I am not reassured, Bofur!” Aleks hollered after him.

They continued onward, dodging around falling, burning beams. Aleks was having so much difficulty focusing on what he was doing that when Bofur halted, he shot right by. The wood beneath Aleks’s feet crumpled, and he plummeted straight down.

“Aleks!” Bofur grabbed him and pulled him from the breech before he’d dunked more than his legs into the lake. “This is no time to be taking a swim,” the dwarf said.

Aleks gave a cough-laced laugh. “I thought this was an all-inclusive package. Free drinks, good food, and sandy beaches.” He wiped sweat off of his face. “Actually, that sounds pretty good right now.”

_“Aye.”_

At Bofur’s emphatic agreement, Aleks grinned. 

Together, they inspected the building before them. Aleks thought it might have once been a blacksmith’s shop, for tongs and hammers lined one scorched wall and a small forge hugged the back. A windlance-sized hole had been punched into the exterior face of the second story. The roof was engulfed with flames, but the first floor looked to have escaped unscathed. 

_So far,_ a part of him tacked on cynically.

Bofur jogged around to gain a view of the back of the building. It proved harder than it sounded since the rear portion of the boardwalk was ablaze. Bofur inched forward, flinching as waist-high fingers of fire licked at his exposed hands. His club combusted, and he dropped it, flapping hands. One more peek, and the dwarf raced back to him. “No sign of exit along the back wall.”

Aleks refocused upon the blacksmith’s shop. He eyed that roof. When Bofur started into the shop, he held him back. “The roof could collapse any second. No go. We think of something else.”

“Aye, and what might that be? Shall we throw rocks at the dragon, then?” Bofur snorted and shook his head before running into the building.

Aleks peered upward, inspecting the ceiling above Bofur before subjecting the floor to the same scrutiny. _Stubborn._ With a low growl, Aleks rushed inside. The faster they found the blasted thing, the better. “Daph will skin us both if she finds out about this,” he warned.

Bofur seemed perfectly content with that, if his smile was any indicator. “Well then, let’s not be telling her. Aye?”

_Aye._

OoOoOo

Gloin stood in silence upon the battlements, his gaze fixed upon the distant, flaming light across the length of Long Lake. They’d failed to kill the dragon after all the measures they’d taken: slinking through Erebor’s halls to gather discarded, dusty trebuchets and mangonels from the old armory; dragging them as quietly as possibly onto the ramparts; and loading them for Smaug’s inevitable emergence from within Erebor. Hours of hard work, and all they’d accomplished was to wing the beastie with a single shot of the mangonel.

As when Smaug had invaded, the dragon proved too agile to be taken down with such weapons. 

Thorin had commanded all to aid in the search for the Arkenstone the instant the dragon winged away, but Gloin had drifted back out here, unable to keep from worrying about the fates of those they’d left behind in the city of men. Bilbo, Bifur and Bombur joined him. The hobbit climbed onto the balustrade, fingers worrying the buttons of his tattered, soiled coat.

“The first thing I’m setting my mind to once we’ve won the battle to come is a weapon to bring down a dragon,” Gloin said.

Bifur and Bombur gruffly agreed, their faces grave. Like as not, his own mirrored theirs. 

“That’s it, then,” Bilbo said in abject defeat, hands shoved in his pockets. “We failed, and Lake-town burns.”

Gloin eyed the hobbit, but it was Bombur who answered as he leaned against the half-wall, elbows upon the stone surface. He shook his head both sadly and with confusion. “Lake-town was ablaze before Smaug left.”

Even Gloin reacted to that. He whistled silently as Bifur asked in Khuzdul, “Not Smaug’s work?”

Bombur’s brows collected above his nose as he stared at the burning city. “Doubtless Smaug has added to Lake-town’s woes, but no, Smaug did not set it on fire.” He rubbed at a burn along his cheek, then winced, his jowls creased in pain. “I had the trebuchet, see. From that vantage, I had a clear view of the town. The fires started before Smaug reached them.”

Aye? Gloin stroked his beard, brow pursed.

“It makes a dwarf wonder what might have been in that message from Aleks,” Bifur muttered in Khuzdul. 

_Aye,_ Gloin agreed. Thorin had acted secretive about the whole thing. All that the King Under the Mountain would tell them was that Kíli had been found. 

It was then that Thorin located them. In full temper, their king stormed into their midst. “Did I not order each of you to the Treasury? Yet, here I find you, lazing about.” He turned to face each of them, his voice harsh. “Have you no loyalty?” 

Such accusations had become commonplace, proof to Gloin’s mind that dragon-sickness had taken full control of their once-noble king. 

“Lake-town is burning, Thorin,” Bilbo dared say. “It wasn’t Smaug. Fíli, Kíli and Aleks…”

“…cannot be helped,” Thorin finished in a deep, rasping voice. “Even should we depart this minute, their fates would be determined long ere we could cross the distance between us.” His head turned towards Lake-town and for a second, Gloin could see lines of pain around his eyes. The king looked old and worn. 

Just as fast, Thorin’s brow cleared, his gaze drifted away. Inward. “Get inside. I want the Arkenstone found.” He stalked off without a backward glance. 

“The king I know would never have left without seeing his will done,” Bombur stated a wee bit morosely. “Not after discovering us out here.”

“’tis the Sickness,” Gloin grunted. “He cannot focus upon aught for long but that thrice-cursed stone.”

Each of the dwarves looked to their burglar. With a sad expression, Bilbo patted his coat pocket. Aye, he’d found it all right. And as the lass’s books had warned, it was too dangerous to be in the hands of its rightful king. 

“Keep it hidden, laddie,” Gloin said. “When the time comes, if it’s needed, we’ll back you.”

Bifur pressed a supportive hand to Bilbo’s shoulder. 

“We’ll be with you, lad,” Bombur promised. 

Bombur and Bilbo re-entered Erebor, but Gloin paused, watching as Bifur summoned one of the ravens that had ever been the eyes and ears of the dwarves when they’d dwelled here in times past. Bifur whispered to it, stroking its back and offering it a small, gold coin. Always swayed by the things that glittered, the ravens. Much like a dwarf in that regard. Truth be told, ‘twas why they coexisted so easily.

The bird cawed, accepting the payment. Bifur quickly drew a small scroll from his coat pocket and tied the message upon the bird’s talon. With a last caw, the bird claimed the coin and flew off with the message dangling from its foot. 

Bifur folded his fingers together and stretched his arms out before him. “Done,” he said in Khuzdul, brushing past Gloin and into Erebor as the king had commanded.

OoOoOo

Men clawed their way back onto burning walkways, desperate to escape the monster that now lurked in the lake’s waters. I didn’t blame them. In fact, I began to kick my way to the surface, too, not really caring that the section of Lake-town that had once existed above our position was long gone, leaving us a dozen yards from the nearest length of burning boardwalk.

 _Gwathadar_ halted me, his arm barring my path and a warning in his eyes. Before I could signal an objection, I saw what Thranduil already had. Smaug’s eyes had locked onto us. 

No, not on us. _Me._

_“Dwarf!”_ the dragon bellowed, air bubbles exploding from his mouth. 

It was like _Jaws_ on steroids. Smaug’s tail undulated side-to-side, propelling him terrifyingly fast. Peripherally, I was aware that Thranduil went at all rigid, but my world narrowed down until my vision was tunneled between me and the dragon. Ice glazed over my lungs and spine. Smaug grew larger and larger, his body moving in sinuous swoops both lazy and swift. Leathery lips pulled back in a toothy grin. 

Thranduil shoved me behind him and drew his swords. His Royal Guard tried to get him to flee, but he was having none of it. The Elvenking waited, hands tight about his weapons.

The Royal Guard turned to me, his eyes hard. We stared at each other. A host of messages flowed between us - his anger and frustrated blame, the mute appeal to convince Thranduil to leave. My own frozen indecision and fear. What was I supposed to do? Swim out as bait?

_Yes,_ I realized. That was exactly what the elf expected…and what I knew, deep inside, was the right thing. Thranduil was the one who mattered here. Not me and not the guard. 

The dragon’s maw opened wide, encompassing my entire view. Before I could act, the guard thrust his way to the forefront and lashed out with his weapon.

_Snap!_

Those jaws closed as if his blade didn’t exist, biting down upon the Royal Guard and leaving only one ankle visible, dangling out of the corner of Smaug’s mouth. Thranduil lashed out with his swords, but they bounced off scales. Dark blood clouded the water as the dragon’s massive body plowed by, side-swiping Thranduil and me and parting us. 

The huge current formed in his wake spun me around like a top and dragged me away. Claw against the new current’s grasp as I might, I could not win free. I was torn from the scene and blinded by the churned up debris. Fear, ravenous and huge, slammed into me. _Thranduil._ Twisting to and fro, I couldn’t find him. 

The current died, abandoning me close to a pier. I must have traveled dozens of meters from my starting point. _Gwathadar?_ In desperation, I surfaced. Paddling with head above water, breaths short and choppy, I spun around again. Where was he? 

I was already on edge, and I knew it. Too much death and blood this day. I could have been overreacting. But as I scanned the empty waters around me, all I could do was babble to myself, _Not Gwathadar._ I could not handle it if I’d been the cause of his death, too. An unreal feeling stole over me. It was like history repeated itself. _Amma_ and _Appa’s_ broken bodies floated through my mind’s eye.

“Gwathadar,” I tried to yell and found my voice thready, robbed of power. _No._ I swam in place, mind blank for horror. I saw no sign of him in the black waters. The vise around my chest tightened with every panicked heartbeat, and my vision blurred. 

Through my tears, I almost missed it. My breath hitched. A very big something headed right for me, causing the water to bulge like an oncoming torpedo. Dorsal scales slipped above the surface.

_ALEKS!_

The mindless scream erupted from within as I scrambled for purchase on the dock behind me, hands digging into wood and finding smoldering, charred pieces. With an aborted screech of pain, I fell back into the lake, swallowing a mouthful of water. Terrified, my gaze darted behind me once more. I threw myself at the pier with a choked cry, my soaked clothes sizzling on the surface. Feet slid as I forced them beneath me and ran. 

Wood snapped like a gazillion toothpicks as Smaug’s body crashed through the pier behind me. The dragon inhaled. I leaped back into the lake as he spewed a lethal jet of flame in my direction. 

More wood burst into pieces as he pursued, the sound filling my world. Back onto another pier, I climbed, body shaking uncontrollably with terror. My legs tore a path down this larger pier, and I darted around a corner at the first opportunity. 

“Dwarf! Thief! You will never take my gold!” he roared from behind.

Maybe, I thought with an hysterical edge, this disguise had been a bad idea. Another frantic look over my shoulder had me moaning in the back of my throat. He was thrashing free of the lake, soon to be airborne. I hung a right, dove into the lake upon coming face-first with a wall of flames. In desperation, I swam under the boardwalk to the next one, each move seeming to take an eternity. Where was Smaug? He had to be right over me by now…right?

Petrified beyond the point of rational thought, I scrambled from the waters onto the next pier and slithered into the ruins of a half-burnt building. Hands over my head, I huddled, waiting.

OoOoOo

Aleks roused slowly with a groan.

What had happened? They’d found the windlance wedged between broken spokes of the stair’s banister when Smaug had gone ballistic somewhere in the vicinity, screaming and pretty much destroying everything. That had been their only warning before the roof had been blown off like some massive baseball bat had knocked it into space. Beams had tumbled down upon them…and that was the last thing he remembered.

“Bofur?” Aleks mumbled. He kicked a slat of wood off his leg and blinked at the exposed sky through patches of missing second floor. Something rocked the building. Not violently, but from beneath. _Tell me Dragons can’t swim._ Aleks tore his way from where he’d fallen, dragging the leg that had been immersed in the lake out of the water. 

A frantic search found Bofur unconscious by the forge. His torso was folded over one of the larger support beams. Both of the dwarf’s arms and legs were in the lake, and the way he was positioned, his nose was a bare inch above water. How Bofur’s hat remained on his head was a mystery, but it made a part of Aleks laugh to see it. _Does he cement the thing on?_

“Bofur.” Aleks broke into a run but stumbled as the damaged floor swayed and cracked ominously. “Bofur!” _Snap!_ Wood broke beneath his feet, and he leaped backwards to watch wood crumble and fall into the lake, creating a big gap in the floor. A gap at least four feet wide. He flinched as a burning beam crashed down from the second floor into the floor behind him, kicking up sparks and further compromising what remained of the entire structure. 

Aleks eyed the distance over the hole. _Risk it._ With a short exhale, he took one running step before he vaulted over the missing section. He touched down successfully and pumped a fist at his side, “Yeah!”

And promptly fell as the wood beneath his feet gave way. Jagged wooden slivers tore at his clothing and flesh until his elbows slammed painfully down upon the surrounding wood planks, abruptly stopping his downward plunge. 

_I don’t believe this._

They were bloody-well cursed. It was the only explanation. “Tell me it could be worse _now,”_ he said with a touch of hysteria. He’d seen way too many _Jaws_ movies. He knew how this worked. The idiot trapped in the floor kicked his legs, ringing the dinner bell, then _crunch!_ Bye-bye human, hello bloody dinner. 

As if to prove the Universe conspired against them, his satyr senses suddenly picked up something really big, really fast, and really malevolent headed their way. Aleks bolted from his hole and scrambled on all fours towards his friend. “Bofur,” he hissed. “You picked a fine time to emulate Bombur. If you are dreaming of good food, I _will_ kick your butt.” He grabbed the dwarf with both hands under his armpits, knees splayed on opposite sides of the rift Bofur dangled over. 

That’s when he saw the eyes. 

_Huge._ The beast was like…it was…

He grabbed Bofur and threw them both to the side as a monstrously massive set of teeth snapped right where they’d been. Smaug sank back beneath the waves, the water vibrating with the thing’s amused chortles. “Dwarf kabob,” he heard it say and almost wet himself. 

_Pull it together, Hunt,_ he thought as he shook Bofur. The dragon was down there, circling for another try. _“Bofur!”_

Eyes snapped open, at first confused, but given the fact that Bofur’s first sight was a soot-smeared Aleks, a missing second story, and flames licking a number of the wooden slats forming the building, the confusion died a quick death. 

_Like we’re going to do._

Through his senses, Aleks felt the dragon arrow up at the building. “Dragon,” he shouted as he threw the dwarf at the nearest wall, jumping right after him. 

Wood pieces flew in all directions as this humongous head burst into the room. The dragon’s lips parted and flame spewed upwards, instantly igniting the planks that had survived intact until that moment. Once again, the dragon sank back into the water, its chuckles audible. The shop’s walls began to weave like drunken sailors as the dragon’s flames spread and spread. The heat was incredible. Not survivable for long, he feared. 

“Get the lance,” Aleks said, snatching the Ruger from around his back. Step by overlapping step, Aleks moved sideways along the gaping hole in the floor, Ruger aimed and ready. He heard Bofur climb the partially demolished staircase. “Can you manage it alone?”

“Aye.”

A thought. “Bofur, we have no bolts for it.”

“Aye.” 

Was that humor he heard in the dwarf’s voice? Knowing Bofur? _Aye._ Irritation grew. “Then what’s the point?”

A sound of pure exasperation. “It’s a site easier to forge a Black Arrow than a windlance, aye?”

Irritation turned to frustration. “That doesn’t much help us _now,_ does it?” he burst out in anger.

“Ye--”

Smaug burst through the floor - _all_ of him. Aleks was smacked backwards, slamming against a burning wall. The plank at his back fell over like it had been held in place by chewing gum. They both toppled.

_Roll, roll!_ Aleks thrashed on his back and side, terrified of the searing pain across his shoulder. If the flames spread to his pants… Again, he visualized a pocketful of ammo making like the Fourth of July and taking him with it. Patting himself madly, his eyes sought the dragon, and his blood chilled. Smaug braced himself vicariously against the weakened sides of the pier, his torso and upper body in the shop. His gaze was all for Bofur and the windlance. 

No time to aim. Aleks lifted his rifle and fired. 

The bullet slammed into the dragon’s front left leg. Smaug howled, his tilting back and a jet of molten fire shooting upwards, spewed from his lips. 

Bofur pounded down the stairs and into view, the unwieldy windlance balanced upon his back. The dwarf wobbled with every labored step. He had one hand raised over his head and the other around his back in an effort to hold it in place as he picked his way around the edges of the room towards the nearest exit. 

“Faster,” Aleks babbled to himself, reloading in a shaking rush and lifting his weapon once more.

Smaug whipped towards the toymaker. Aleks shot again, this time hitting Smaug in the neck. _Need more power._ The Ruger would not kill this dragon, not unless Smaug consented to sit still while Aleks shot him full of holes. 

But if Aleks had to guess, he’d have said Smaug was not used to being hurt. The dragon reacted in disbelief. Fury. His attention left Bofur, allowing the dwarf to sidle around fallen, burning beams and the hole in the floor. The toymaker slipped from the shop – if one could call peeling around a corner with a humongous windlance in one’s arms “slipping”. 

Aleks loaded again and drew the Ruger to his shoulder, this time taking careful aim as Smaug snarled at him. _The eye._ He had to hit the eye. There was no other place vulnerable enough to really hurt. 

Smaug’s lips pulled back, revealing a maw full of razor-sharp teeth, teeth with bits stuck between them. Clothes. Flesh. Pieces of _people._ The surge of absolute outrage that rocketed through him ignited in a burst of inspiration. As the dragon inhaled, Aleks frantically dropped the Ruger and unzipped his tote. His hands tore through the contents until he found what he was seeking. With an unpleasant twist of the lips, he lobbed the box of Glock ammo into the dragon’s open maw. Then, he scooped up his duffle and hurled himself off the dock, diving deep.

Muted popping noises cracked behind him, and the dragon screamed. Rotating underwater, he saw a huge shape – Smaug – wing into the air. Daring to surface, he watched the creature shake its head to and fro as it threw a dragon-sized tantrum, trashing what was left of the town. The few remaining structures were pulverized under Smaug’s onslaught. 

Aleks blinked, a slow smile beginning to claim him. “Didn’t like that, did you?” he murmured. 

Smaug didn’t stop until nothing but flotsam remained. 

“Aleks,” Bofur panted as he attempted to shove the windlance upon a mid-sized piece of floating debris, “what did you do?”

Aleks threw him a grin. “Smaug got a mouthful of something he didn’t like,” he told him.

Bofur snorted, lips twitching as Aleks threw in his own efforts to getting that windlance above water.

“I will have my revenge, men of Lake-town! Dwarves!” Smaug roared. Then, he flew…

_…away?_

_Oh no. Thorin._ Maybe Aleks hadn’t thought this through. 

The windlance almost pulled Aleks under as he shoved one shoulder beneath the weapon to help boost it onto the slab of wood. “What is this thing made out of?” he panted. “It’s heavier than an anchor,” he managed around a mouthful of water as it dunked him.

Bofur didn’t answer. The veins upon the toymaker’s brow stood out in stark relief as he hefted it, muscles and body shaking with effort. Aleks immediately called for help, asking any marine life to aid them. 

_Hurry, hurry._

Aleks glanced towards the sky, not daring to believe Smaug had really gone. And not just gone, but left the scene alive. 

How were they supposed to fix _this?_


	43. A Big Ol' Wrinkle

### Chapter 42

I have no idea how long it took me to collect the tattered remnants of my courage and leave the pile of debris. Smaug’s rage, so close to destroying the rubble above me, had about killed my nerves for good. At one point, his tail hand slammed home right next to me. 

Like the most timid of animals, I poked my nose out of my “den” and stayed frozen on the cusp of the pile, not brave enough to venture forth but knowing I had to. Where was he? As if in answer, I heard Smaug railing about something a distance away, so I slipped into the water.

Each heartbeat gonged as I dared to ease away from that hidey-hole. The fires by this time had mostly died out, leaving me in darkness. Lake-town was gone. Oh, some burning remnants yet persisted a quarter mile or so away, but that, too, was fading. Dying. The lake had become a graveyard, a repository for the scraps of what had once been a thriving, if poor, city. 

Navigating it this time was worse - no light to aid me and no elf eyes to spot dangers before they became a major problem. The surface of the lake here was jammed full of floating, crisped logs which slammed into one another with the lake’s undulations. Already bruised from my last dip in its waters, I soon sought refuge beneath its waves. 

That option, too, carried with it risks. The risk of not finding a safe place to surface each time my oxygen ran low. The risk of injury as debris too substantial to float yet not heavy enough to sink moved about on hidden currents. And, most disconcerting, the idea plagued me that Smaug was down here with me, unseen and approaching as he had when he’d snatched Gwathadar’s Royal Guard so swiftly. My mind became so consumed with images of Smaug gliding towards me that I returned to the surface, ready to accept the dangers there as my panic made staying underwater all but impossible.

That’s when I heard him. Smaug bellowed loud enough to make the waters of the lake tremble. I whipped around, eyes to the sky. _There._ He attacked what remained of Lake-town, pulverizing it until from my vantage point, nothing remained. 

_Bofur. Aleks._ A part of me seized up, terrified. Had they succeeded already? Were they safe? Aleks… I would know. Wouldn’t I? My twin couldn’t die with me not knowing. _He’s alive._ I’ll admit it was more a refusal to consider otherwise that firmed my back. I could not consider the possibility. It wouldn’t happen. Not after Gwathadar…

With a roar, Smaug winged away. A part of me wanted to freak out. _He escaped,_ that part gibbered. Smaug had survived. That wasn’t supposed to happen! 

_Nor was the Elvenking supposed to get eaten,_ another part of me said with heavy accusation. 

He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be. 

_How do you plan to fix THIS?_

I had no answer for that inner voice. I was done, my emotional tank empty. It seemed nothing I did worked in the long term. The timeline was broken.

I tread water, defeated, until the dragon disappeared from sight. If he headed towards Erebor, I really didn’t want to know about it. Not right then. I couldn’t do a thing to stop him, and I just couldn’t take any more bad news that night. I’d seen enough in the endless, bloody hours that I’d spent hunched over injured men. Their sticky blood had covered my hands, and I’d watched too many eyes turn glassy as the soul within the ravaged body found release. 

It was a long trip to shore. Logs and flotsam were problem enough, but when I started encountering bodies, my brain shut down. It had reached saturation point. No more room for bad stuff. Tunnel vision. That is the only way I know to describe it. I was aware of my surroundings, but I refused to let it register. I didn’t see the child or the doll floating near her head. I didn’t see the orc Smaug must have torn in two. 

Shore. That is what I saw. The barely perceptible darker outline on the horizon. 

It would have been so easy to get turned around. The silhouette of land was hardly darker than the lake, and how I avoided that pitfall, I can only imagine. Luck. The Valar. Maybe Eru Ilúvatar watched over us all that night. 

When a glow added definition, highlighting shore for me, I could have cried. Light. It was dull and soft, but it was there, a blob spread across the vista in an oddly oblong shape. To be honest, I was stunned that anyone dared light a fire. After the orcs and Smaug, I sure wouldn’t. 

Then I realized the truth. They hadn’t. It was _green._

The revelation should have left me overjoyed, but all I could think about was war. Death. Bofur and Aleks. Thranduil.

At long last, I reached shore. I stumbled onto my shaking legs, sopping wet and trembling from exertion. With halting, heavy footsteps, I walked between hastily constructed tents, not really paying attention to anyone as I followed the shoreline nearer to where Lake-town’s gates had once stood. 

I should have sought out the elves and gained news about the Elvenking. Legolas would be there. Yet…I couldn’t. My feet would not turn in that direction. I could not bear to discover if my worst fears where Gwathadar was concerned were true. 

Instead, I found a patch of ground near the lake that gave me the widest view, and I collapsed onto the sandy soil. I sat with arms hugging my knees and waited. Aleks and Bofur would come. They had to.

OoOoOo

Aleks called out for assistance as they drew nearer to shore. He’d done so regularly to the point that he was hoarse by the time anyone actually heard him.

Bofur said nothing, his face drained with the effort of keeping the windlance from sinking beneath the waves. Their makeshift raft had lasted all of five minutes beneath the windlance’s weight, leaving them hefting it by hand. The fish aided as they could – to keep the windlance afloat took so many of them that the waters around them looked to be boiling with their silvery bodies – but each yard gained was hard won. Aleks had debated letting the cursed thing go. It couldn’t be worth all this. 

Bofur wouldn’t hear of it. Stubborn. Aleks had known that about dwarves, but _dang,_ dude. 

_Daph?_

She was with the Elvenking, so he wasn’t too worried, but Aleks wanted to set eyes on them all: Daph, Kíli, and Fíli. He wanted to know Smaug had not found the caravan of boats that had vacated hours before his arrival. Freija’s face often came to mind. She’d better be okay. Scratch that - her whole family had better be okay. 

“Hey!” Aleks shouted, struggling to keep above the waves. Bofur might be hefting more of the windlance’s weight than he, but Aleks’s portion was no small thing. What Aleks shouldered felt enough to kill a man if it fell on him. Aleks freed one hand and waved it overhead. “Hey, we need some help!” 

Men charged into the lake, their energies a welcome orange shot through with red. _Bard,_ Aleks identified. The future Lord of Dale not only led them, he was the first to reach Aleks and Bofur. When he saw their burden and the mass of fish aiding them, his brows shot up. 

“The windlance,” Bard said with heavy disbelief, reaching beneath the waves to grab hold of its frame. 

“Smaug’s not dead,” Aleks managed to say. 

They’d made it. The realization sank in. Exhaustion followed on its heels. They’d gotten the weapon to the men. Their task was done. Sinking under the waves for a sec, Aleks let the burden pass on to someone else and finned his gratitude to the thousands of fish who had tagged-teamed them to this point.

“Fester, bring rope,” Aleks heard Bard holler above the waves. Wearily, Aleks swam back to the surface. 

Men hauled the windlance out of the lake a handful of minutes later. Aleks and Bofur couldn’t even stand as they followed. Aleks didn’t know about Bofur, but his body was flashing so many warning signals, he wondered if a heart attack was imminent. 

Daphne was there as more men pulled them to their feet and supported them. 

“Get them to pallets,” Bard commanded as he took charge of the windlance. 

Aleks remembered being carried into a tent, and Daph’s strained face above him. Then, nothing more.

OoOoOo

I dreamed of blood.

Rivers of it, sticky and vile. It coated my hands, spurted onto my clothes and hair. Its iron tang filled my nostrils and try as I might, I could not escape it. In my mind, it spread and spread, consuming all in its path. People screamed and fled as it hungrily devoured land, widening until it had swallowed the world. 

Then, the bodies began to bob up onto its surface.

I jerked from sleep, heart thundering and lungs gasping for breath. I was barely aware of my surroundings as I sought some comfort, any scrap of it. _Bofur._ My eyes located him in a snap, and I sidled closer to him. A sense of peace began to push away the horror. I took a ragged breath, my panic abating as I watched his chest expand with each breath. He really was okay. He and Aleks had succeeded against all odds and returned to tell the tale. 

Remembered joy resurfaced. Seeing them crawling from the lake, alive and so very weary, I’d wept. The two of them meant so much to me, and the intensity of my response when I’d clapped eyes upon Bofur… Well, it had been revealing. If I’d been blind before his kiss, I was wide awake to my feelings now. 

My toymaker looked different in sleep, that expressive face strange without the vital mind animating it. Sprawled on his belly, one arm lay overhead in a Superman pose while the other lay palm to the ground near his shoulder. Even asleep, he wore the hat. I stifled a snicker at that, the vestiges of horror losing their grip on me in a burst of humor.

A quick check revealed Aleks, too, slept on undisturbed. He’d always been a messy sleeper, and that hadn’t changed. He was flopped on his back, legs and arms flung away from his body, taking up the lion’s share of the small tent. 

Another spurt of amusement - Aleks’s mouth gaped open, and a thin line of drool created a wet slash to his ear. How I wished I had a camera. 

Distantly, I recognized that we’d been moved. We’d been in a much larger tent full of wounded men when I’d at last finished bandaging up my two heroes and pretty much fell over where I sat. This one might possibly fit two more bodies, but only if Aleks was jettisoned and the replacements tidier in their sleep habits.

It occurred to me to wonder where we were and why we’d been moved, but really, I didn’t care. Exhaustion was pulling me under again. I inched ever closer to Bofur until I could feel his body heat alongside of me. Then, still not satisfied, my hand slid under his until our palms met. 

He didn’t react, but the contact settled me to my core. I felt safe, the weight of his hand a reminder I was not alone. Content, I drifted off again.

OoOoOo

Bofur’s eyes cracked open, and his lips curled upwards. Careful not to wake his lass, he twined their fingers together, searching her for further signs of distress.

During his long swim, he’d wondered if he and Aleks might have a wee bit of a fight on their hands getting the lass back from the elves. To be sure, stealing her away from the Elvenking would have been immense fun, but he was happier to have her by his side. Strange that the elves had allowed her to sit unprotected by the shore to watch for them.

_Tomorrow’s worry._

Rubbing his thumb along the side of her hand, he let sleep once more overtake him.

OoOoOo

“Any sign of the orcs?” Thranduil asked as he leaned upon the folding desk before him. The tent he inhabited rippled with the wind outside, accompanied by the occasional snapping sound.

His middle son was prompt with his answer. “No, Ada. Their tracks all head west, but they scattered. We have not the forces to track them all, and the ones we have pursued thus far have not yielded results.”

Thranduil’s head bowed. He had yet to recover fully from weeks without the gift of sleep. The night before had added to his body’s deficit, one he could ill afford. Suspected loss added to the burden.

“Ada?”

He lifted his head and smiled at his middle son, weary but not about to back down. Events were coming to a head. _The Battle of Five Armies,_ he reiterated to himself. Gellamon had warned him of the battle to come, and the Elvenking studied the map before him, tracing the shortest land route to Erebor.

“We know their destination,” he said. 

_Has the dwarf succumbed to the sickness yet?_ If he had, what would their reception be? No matter. They could not afford for Erebor to become an orc stronghold. Thranduil would sooner see the mountain razed to the ground, even if he had to do so with the entire party of dwarves within it. 

He stood to his full height and studied his son. Legolas had done exceedingly well tracking the orcs to Lake-town…as well as protecting the dwarves and Hwinneth as they escaped his Halls. An escape, he thought with a touch of bitterness, which should not have been necessary.

_“Ion nin,”_ he said. “I am very proud of you.”

Legolas looked stunned, then pleased. “I but acted as you taught me.”

Thranduil laughed lightly. “Tact, Legolas? Never did I think to see the day.”

His son gave him a small grin in return. “I thought I should learn at some point.”

Thranduil clasped his hands behind his back. “We’ve no word of your brother.”

Legolas placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Caranoran had his reasons for departing. Trust, Adar. He will return to us.”

Ah, but would he return hale? Whole? Already, he’d suffered one--

“Sire.”

At Belegon’s abrupt entrance, the Elvenking turned towards the front flap of the tent, brow raised. 

“Lady Hwinneth, sire. We’ve found her.”

OoOoOo

I slipped from the tent without disturbing the guys, my bladder begging for mercy and my dry tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Letting the tent flap close behind me, I squinted at a sudden face-full of sunlight, lips curling upwards instantly as a young body attached itself to my leg. 

Josan. 

So that’s where we’d been moved. Jarel must have found us and convinced Bard to have us carried to his tent. I hoped most of Lake-town’s citizens were too preoccupied to consider the whole shotgun-wedding thing again, but I appreciated his intervention and quietly thanked him.

Josan tugged at me, and I tilted my head down to meet sparkling blue eyes. “Daphne, did you see the dragon?” he asked, his little body bobbing up and down. “It was _huge._ Have you ever seen anything so huge? And orcs! I’ve never seen an orc before.” 

I hung on to my smile by sheer force of will, but I suspected it turned all droopy. The child had no idea. My mind filled with bloody images, and a ghostly spurt of remembered terror shafted through me. 

Josan continued on, chirruping his excitement. “Do you know what?”

I cleared my throat. “No, what?”

“I’m going to be a dragon-slayer,” he proclaimed proudly, his thumb poking his thin chest. 

My gaze flew to Hydi’s as the little boy continued to ramble about his exciting night. I wanted to cry, because Smaug was alive. What if the dragon yet reigned over these skies when Josan reached maturity? I really didn’t want to picture him actually making good on this youthful pledge.

Worry and empathy colored Hydi’s dark eyes. My throat clogged up, robbing me of speech. “Come, now, Josan,” Hydi finally interrupted. “Give our guest time to wake up.” 

The little boy blinked up at me. “You’re awake, aren’t you, Daphne?” Instantly, he tacked on, “You look funny with a beard.”

Yeah, I bet I did. The pressure in my throat eased back enough to let me speak. “You think so?” I asked in a light tone. Clumsily squatting to his level, I whispered, “I thought I looked grand. I was thinking about keeping it.”

Blue eyes widened. “Keeping it?”

I nodded somberly. “You don’t like it?” I asked, pouting. I batted my eyelashes at him. “I thought it made me look pretty. All the girls want one, you know.”

Suspicion appeared in his eyes. “They want beards?” He chanced a look at his mother and found her covering a smile with one hand.

“Oh, yes,” I assured him, rounding my eyes. “A beard is terribly stylish.”

Another quick turn of the head towards his mother, and he folded his arms before his scrawny chest. “You’re fooling.”

For a second, I maintained my poise. Then, giving up the goat, I crossed my eyes at him and grinned. “I’m fooling.”

Josan snickered. 

Before I could say more, his eyes widened until they shone like miniature moons, his gaze fixed upon something over my shoulder. That was the only warning I had.

_“Penneth.”_

I almost fell over. _Gwathadar._ Stiff, bruised body or not, I flew across the space and hurled myself at Thranduil, arms wrapping around him. I absently noted Legolas’s and Belegon’s presences, but the relief rushing through me permitted no space for them just yet. He was alive. I chanted that to myself. He was _alive._

The Elvenking’s strong arms wrapped about me in return and one hand drifted down my scalp. “I believed you lost, _fileg.”_

“Me, too,” I babble nonsensically, dashing a couple tears from my stubbled cheeks. “When I couldn’t find you, I mean-- I thought he’d-- It was like my amma and appa all over again.”

“You are well, Hwinneth?” Legolas asked.

I nodded blindly in his direction, unable to tear my eyes from my gwathadar. “I thought I’d gotten you killed,” I said, my face crumpling. 

“No, child.” A small smile. “My enemies would tell you. I am infuriatingly difficult to kill.”

“Don’t joke about it,” I protested in unison with Legolas’s reproving, “Adar.”

Thranduil’s eyes crinkled with a more relaxed smile. His gaze swept around the camp as Legolas gave me an odd look. “Hwinneth,” the prince broached, “why do you wear a beard?”

The Elvenking leveled somber eyes upon Jarel and his family. “You have my deepest gratitude for the care you have provided to my foster daughter.”

Jarel had been in the process of claiming his feet when the Elvenking spoke. The poor man almost fell over. “D-daughter?” Disbelieving eyes flew between Thranduil and me. 

“It’s a long story,” I offered.

The man raked one hand through his hair. “I imagine it would have to be. I mean…” Hasty bow to Thranduil. “I’d heard elves and dwarves had no fondness for each other.” 

Legolas’s mouth opened, but Thranduil’s lifted hand silenced him. “You have heard correctly,” Gwathadar told the family. “Hwinneth is a special case.”

“Hwinneth?” Jarel dared ask.

“My elven name,” I told him while attempting to dredge fingers through my itchy hair. _Gah,_ it was a knotted mess. _Grunge girl,_ I snorted to myself. I seriously needed a bath.

Jarel nodded as if in understanding but his expression said otherwise. Jarel, Hydi and Freija all looked blown over to discover my tie with Thranduil. I felt a pang at that. It wasn’t that I’d hidden it – more that I still felt, well, that I hadn’t earned it. Bragging wasn’t my thing. 

“Hwinneth,” Thranduil said, turning his attention back to me.

When he said no more, I registered an odd silence but with the fingers of one hand still entangled in my messy mop of hair, I was decidedly distracted as I attempted to yank them free, cheeks heating in mortification as they remained glued in place. _Smooth, Daphne. Really smooth._ So embarrassing! It was like my hair had turned into some kind of stinking Chinese finger trap, so of course there had to be witnesses. 

_Bofur would love this,_ I thought with a snort. Maybe it was a good thing he still slept, or I’d never hear the end of it. 

With one last, hard tug, my fingers won free, pulling some stubborn strands with them. I grimaced and shook the hairs loose before collecting the shreds of my dignity and looking up. 

Instant deer in headlights moment. My heart palpitated once like a hollow gong. Now, I’d seen Thranduil annoyed, and I’d seen him icily furious at his nobles. He was no teddy bear though he could be wondrously kind. 

I’d just never expected to have _that_ look turned my way. Like the censured nobles, every inch of me yearned to find some rock to slink beneath. The Elvenking’s eyes blazed hotter and hotter, and a tic appeared beneath one fiery blue orb, the sole sign of life in a face that had hardened to statuesque rigidity. What I’d done to earn the hostility radiating off of him like nuclear fallout, I hadn’t the faintest clue, but it sure was beaming down on me like a cartoon death ray.

Slowly, his hand reached out. Lean fingers wrapped around my wrist like a loose, unbreakable shackle, lifting it between us. My eyes widened with dawning realization as there, dangling for all to see, was Bofur’s bracelet. The true culprit, or so Thranduil’s burning eyes proclaimed.

“Tell me, Lady Hwinneth, that this object around your wrist is not what I suspect it to be,” he said in a silky voice. 

Lady Hwinneth. Not _fileg_ or _penneth._ The switch to formal address was not a good sign. My joy of minutes before soured and drained away with an almost audible slurping noise. Clearly, the bracelet was more than just an innocuous gift, and Thranduil knew exactly what it meant. Knew and rejected its meaning absolutely. 

How everyone else reacted to the sudden avalanche of tension crackling through the air around us, I had no idea. This thick bubble of silence enveloped Thranduil and me, pushing everyone else out. 

_He won’t accept this._ The realization hit home like a sledgehammer. Thranduil would never accept the happiness I’d discovered, simply because of the packaging it came in: a dwarf with a floppy hat and irreverent grin. A chill took me. _Don’t do this, Gwathadar._

“I love him,” I told him simply, eyes beginning to smart. And, oh, how my throat tightened as the fury simmering in Thranduil’s eyes intensified. 

Jarel took one, careful step closer, his body tense. Belegon and Legolas insinuated themselves between the man and their king with palms lifted. 

My trusted gwathadar vanished, replaced by a cold stranger. _Please, Gwathadar. Don’t do this to me again._ It was an instant flashback to the scene in his study. I wanted to believe this, too, was Sauron, but his eyes remained clear. I wouldn’t lie to myself. This was all Thranduil.

His wintry eyes burned down into mine for a long, silent stretch. “He presumes much,” the king said at last. His hand released mine, and I slapped my opposite hand over the bracelet protectively. Thranduil studied my every nuance for a moment before nudging my chin to the side with a gentle clasp. In a deceptively mild tone, he asked, _“Do_ you know what such a gift means, Hwinneth?” Fingers from his opposite hand rifled through my hair _just_ where Bofur was wont to tug on that one lock. 

Thranduil was checking for a braid. 

_He’ll never accept this,_ I thought again. I felt ill and panic-stricken. All this time, it had never occurred to me to consider how Thranduil would react to me falling for a dwarf. I suppose I’d assume that like Appa, he’d be happy for me. A naïve sentiment, it seemed. Where Appa would see Bofur’s strengths and good cheer, Thranduil would see…what? Not the brave, kind heart that beat in that chest. 

My hopes, all those bright hopes that had taken root when I’d realized the depth of Bofur’s seriousness, began to wither. _He’s going to make me choose,_ a part of me acknowledged, petrified of the idea. 

The Elvenking despised dwarves, his hatred as blinding as Thorin’s. Bofur’s soft kisses replayed in the back of my mind with a growing sense of loss as I stared up at Thranduil’s severe profile. Had I not noted Thranduil’s coldly pragmatic side from the start? He could turn “off” to do what he believed needed to be done. 

Images of Aleks’s about-face of so long ago returned. To lose Thranduil like that… 

Thranduil’s gaze lifted, settling upon the small tent. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly before turning back to me. “Come,” he commanded in a soft voice. Nothing else, just that one word. 

Jarel, I saw, looked tempted to intervene. Hydi hovered behind him, her face pale. She had one hand clamped about her squirming son and the other pressed to her lips. 

I would have protested. No way did I want Bofur to wake up with no idea where I’d gone or why, but the expression on Thranduil’s face warned me this was one time that a wise woman would bow to his demand. If I argued, Aleks and Bofur might wake up. What would Thranduil do if he came face-to-face with Bofur while still so furious? 

_He wouldn’t hurt him,_ I tried to assure myself, yet icy doubt wormed its way around my spine. What if he _did?_

I mustered up a weak smile for Jarel and his family as Legolas came to stand at my shoulder. Thranduil, meanwhile, walked past me, his arm brushing mine as he made his way back to his camp. Belegon followed right behind him, never halting but his eyes meeting mine and conveying sympathy. 

The Elvenking never looked back to see if I followed. He expected my compliance. He was the king, and his word was law. Period. Raised in America, I was _so_ not used to that. It drove home just how alien I was to this world, something I’d not felt since escaping Dol Guldur. 

“Daphne,” Jarel objected as I moved to follow my king. 

I twisted around. 

The man stared hard at Legolas, who sidled closer to me. “Perhaps you should remain with us,” the man dared to say while pinning Legolas with his glare. 

Legolas arched one brow. 

“The Elvenking loves me,” I said at last. “He’d never hurt me.” With sad wryness, “Not on purpose, anyway. But Jarel, don’t wake them until I’m gone,” I said, nodding toward the tent. “Please. I’m not sure what he’d do…” I glanced over my shoulder towards where the Elvenking continued with his steady progress back to his camp.

“You belong with your people,” Jarel said, not without compassion. 

Yeah, good luck with that. I lifted a hand and dropped it. I had no answer for him. He thought me a dwarf, so my situation must seem beyond peculiar to him.

“I’ll be telling them what occurred here,” Jarel warned. 

I nodded once, jerkily, eyes pooling. How, I wanted to know, could a morning that had started with such promise become this? With one last longing glance at the tent, remembering Bofur’s savored warmth beside me, I turned and trudged away, Legolas falling in at my side.

The entire way across the scattered camps, I berated myself. How could I have not thought about the wrench Thranduil was sure to be when Bofur stated his intentions? 

_Idiot. Stupid, stupid idiot._

My eyesight blurred and cleared alternately, time an again, as I fought back tears and tried to figure out what to do. Once again, I was facing being torn in two directions, only this time it was infinitely more personal, and the stakes so much higher. 

_Aleks?_ For a heartbeat, I thought I felt my twin. It did a lot to bolster my gumption, for he felt close to rousing. They’d come after me, Bofur and Aleks both. I had to make Thranduil see reason before they did. Arguing with him in public was not a good idea, but usually, he could be approached in a more private setting. Given the wide berth most men gave us, I figured this was good enough. 

I quickened my pace until I reached Thranduil’s side, matching my steps to his slow, regal strides. “You’re angry.”

Pale eyes slid my way though his head never turned. “I am concerned at your lack of judgment, Hwinneth.”

My lack of…? _Excuse me?_ I was tempted to point out who had thrown whom into a pit in this picture, but I knew it was a low dig. Low and mean. Frustrated or not, I didn’t want to hurt him. “Because of this,” I said, lifting my arm and jangling my wrist in demonstration. 

His lips flattened. “I believe I made that abundantly clear,” he said in clipped tones. 

I dared to touch his arm. “I love you, Gwathadar.” Bright blue eyes seared into mine with intensity. “I hope you know that. But I love him, too.” 

Thranduil’s steps halted. With a sigh, he unbent and traced one knuckle down my itchy, bearded cheek. “Your affection for me, I do not doubt.” He resumed his casual pace onward, his hands clasped behind his back. “Much as I wish I could say otherwise, Hwinneth, dwarves cannot be trusted.” His gentler gaze took a u-turn and hardened as I instantly parted my lips to protest. “No. I know what you would say. You believe them friends.” A sour scowl at my wrist. “And more.” He tossed his head once. “Bracelets are courtship gifts among dwarves. Did you know this?”

Despite everything, my lips twitched. _Sneaky, Bofur._ That he was so determined to get such a symbol around my wrist made my throat tighten. Merciful heavens, but I was growing to love that dwarf more daily. “I knew his intentions,” I evaded. 

My answer displeased Thranduil. His nostrils flared, and his lips went white at the edges. “Understand, _penneth,_ it is my duty to protect you. I will not allow this.”

OoOoOo

Thranduil watched his young dryad closely as he uttered his words. She did not understand. How could she? So young. She’d not seen the damage dwarves often left in their wake. The men of Dale could well inform her of the wisdom – or its lack – in trusting the naugrim. His Hwinneth saw only their strengths and seemed blind to their weaknesses. She did not perceive that they were a people who bestowed their affections on trinkets and gems more faithfully than people.

 _Penneth,_ I would spare you this. He had no wish to see her heart bruised and broken when the dwarf courting her turned to his riches and craft, and she found herself cast into an increasingly lesser role in his affections as time progressed.

By Eru, if he’d had any notion of what the dwarves would bring when they’d crossed his threshold, he would have ordered Legolas to turn them out, permitting them to live or die in their pathetic attempt to cross Mirkwood without a guide. She’d not have been thrust into this dwarf’s company again, and she’d not have been reunited with her villainous brother.

The fault rested with him, Thranduil acknowledged. Relieved of her fear by the safety she had found with his family, she’d let her defenses crumble, baring her soft heart to the world. Had the situation not been so alarming, he would have smiled to see it and the way she bristled at his declaration. Both were indicators of just how far she had progressed from the timid soul he’d found broken at his borders. 

Hwinneth was not pleased by his reaction to the bracelet, and she made no effort to hide it. Thranduil hated the pain his actions were going to cause her, but he saw no way around it. He was high in her affections. High enough? Time would tell. He would use any influence he had over her to steer her away from this dwarf. 

_Who is he?_ His mind turned over the faces he had seen among them. _The heir?_ She had, after all, placed herself between Azog and the blond dwarf. _No._ Another face came to mind. Well did he remember the older, scruffy fellow who had dared to order him to protect his own foster daughter. 

Him. He was certain of it. 

Thranduil forced a light tone. “Now it is you, I believe, who is angry.” 

Her chin assumed a mulish angle. _Yes. Angry indeed._ “You judge all based upon the actions of a few,” she accused, her green eyes flashing. “You haven’t exchanged a single word with Bofur--”

“Bofur?” he echoed mildly, his mind latching onto the name. His suspicions were confirmed, then. Not the heir, but the dwarf who had gone after the windlance with the male naiad.

They crossed into the elven camp. The chaos of men was replaced by the cool purposefulness of Thranduil’s people. 

She did not immediately answer, a clear sign she would protect this Bofur. He hardened himself against the sympathy welling up inside. He would not let a dwarf steal her away. He’d not lose foster daughter and hope all at once, and never to them. The dwarves had taken enough. He would stand for no more. 

_Hope,_ the more cynical side of his nature mocked. _Hope has fled_. Due to his failure, Hwinneth could not heal so much as the smallest shrub in Mirkwood without the Dark Lord sensing it and homing in upon her. Where then was the hope? 

The weight of his obligations threatened to smother him. When his family was reunited, they would be forced to seek out other avenues to bolster their people’s defenses. Using Hwinneth was no longer an option. Indeed, they would need every wile, every advantage and skill, to keep her safe.

He did not trust the dwarves to do the same. No, he would not let the dwarves have her. She had become dear to him - she was the daughter of his heart. The Valar knew she’d had enough pain. If she longed for a spouse and children, he’d see she met only the finest, those of the highest character. Men. The answer rested with the race of men.

_She fancies herself smitten with this Bofur,_ he mused, eyes assessing. _She is young,_ he reminded himself. She had no understanding of just how treacherous the naugrim truly were. He could do no other than see to her protection, whether that protection was welcomed or not.

OoOoOo

Aleks woke up with a start. The noise level outside had risen. He heard chickens. Goats. People talking in voices laced with thinly veiled urgency.

None of it had pulled him from sleep. Twisting about on his pallet, he croaked, “Daph?” Bofur slept on the opposite side of the small tent, dead to the world. Levering himself up on elbows, Aleks wiped grit from his eyes and tried to figure out why he was awake. Warmth drew his attention to his left side, where a familiar red fox lay with his pointed chin on his thigh. 

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, stroking the silky fur along the little guy’s back. “Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

The fox blinked his eyes. His jaws parted in a big yawn.

“Guess not.” 

One section of canvas peeled back without warning, and the fox disappeared beneath another edge with the flick of his bushy tail. Brilliant sunlight flooded into the space. Aleks groaned and fell back, shielding his eye with one hand. “Dude.”

“Master Aleks?”

Spreading his fingers, Aleks squinted between them. “Jarel?”

“We need to talk.”

Less than five minutes later, Aleks’s brows slammed together above his nose as his anger climbed. “Over a bracelet?”

Jarel lifted two palms in a shrug. “That is what it seemed to me.” A little hesitantly, the man asked, _“Is_ he her foster father?”

Aleks scowled, his gaze drifting off over the lake. His hands reflexively fisted and relaxed. The scene Jarel described did not sound good. His sister had admitted to loving “him” – no real guess who that was – and the elf had not been a happy camper upon hearing it. 

_If he gets in the way of her finding happiness, I’ll sic every animal on Arda upon him._ His hands fisted this time until his nails bit into this skin. Aleks had half a mind to go marching over there, but Jarel had also informed him of how Daph had freaked out about what the Elvenking might do should he and Bofur race after her. 

He really hated that elf.

Aleks shot Jarel a glance. “So he claims,” he finally said. “Daph loves him,” said in a low growl. “But I don’t trust him. What I don’t understand is why some bracelet would get him all hot under the collar?” His frown deepened. Maybe the Elvenking wasn’t as free of the Dark Lord as they’d hoped. _Daph?_

His lips flattened. If Thranduil was skirting the edge again, Aleks wouldn’t go charging in with barrels blazing. First, he’d scout out the situation. Thorin was always after him to use his head. Maybe it was time he listened. 

Making up his mind, he sent invisible, questing fingers spreading across the land, calling animals to his side. The fox, he let be, since the little guy couldn’t very well pass through the elf camp unnoticed. He needed something more discrete. Aleks intended to know every move that Elvenking made.

And make sure his sister was protected. If the elf was still compromised, Aleks intended to be prepared for it.

OoOoOo

The elvish camp was abuzz with activity. Many elves were tearing down tents and packing up supplies. Unlike the men, faces here were set with purpose. No despair, no despondency.

Well, except mine. 

How could I get Thranduil to see reason? My stomach was contorting itself worse than any acrobat, panicked at the thought of Thranduil backing me into a corner. He was going to make me choose. The certainty solidified like a lump of burning coal in my belly. 

Legolas’s arm brushed mine, a deliberate attempt at comfort. 

My fingers knotted together. Thranduil meant the world to me, but I had to fight him on this. I had to. 

Gwathadar spoke before I could decide what to say. “Belegon, I leave Hwinneth in your charge. I want a healer to look her over. See to it she has food, a change of clothes, and a chance to bathe,” he said. Then to me, “We must away within the hour. Oakenshield cannot fend off both dragon and the combined orc and goblin armies headed his way. I will not allow Erebor to become an enemy stronghold.” He pursed his lips. “I am tempted to return you to my Halls with escort.”

What? I grabbed his hand, and his brow lifted minutely. “Don’t do this,” I begged. “Please, Gwathadar.”

Somber eyes stared down into my own. “I will not have you wounded.” He spoke of more than the battle ahead, and we both knew it.

“Don’t make me choose,” I whispered. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

His hand lifted to my bewhiskered cheek in the softest of caresses. “You belong with us, Hwinneth. In this, your youth leaves you vulnerable. You are my daughter and subject. Heed me now. I will not have this. Do you understand? As your king, I forbid it.”

The words were so gently said that at first I failed to register the gist of it. When I did, I could feel the blood drain from me face. He’d done it. My gwathadar, the one I counted on to support and defend me, had drawn that line. I struggled to find words, mouth moving soundlessly like a beached fish. I had to make him see. He had to understand!

His finger pressed to my lips. “No,” he said in a harder voice. The gentleness vaporized as Gwathadar was again swallowed up by Elvenking. “I will not stand for it. You will obey me in this. Stay away from that dwarf.” 

An icy numbness spread through my core as he turned and walked away. He meant it. I’d seen him with his people, including his sons. Thranduil could be flexible, but when he reached his limit, it was over. He did not tolerate disrespect. He would not forgive outright disobedience. It was counted treason.

He was a king. _My_ king. If I sought out Bofur, it would likely destroy my relationship with Thranduil, burning it to its roots. 

Legolas’s hand pressed to my shoulder, his blue eyes somber and not without sympathy. “Do nothing rash,” he counseled softly. “Give it time.” 

Time? What would that do? 

Legolas’s lips quirked. “You may not have noticed, but Adar is stubborn.”

I snorted, a watery laugh escaping me. 

Legolas’s smile grew, then faded. More seriously, he continued, “I do not share your trust of dwarves,” he said matter-of-factly. “I am inclined to agree with Ada. This dwarf, you care for him so much?”

I nodded blindly, tears filling my eyes as the scope of my loss swept over me. I was going to lose one of them. Bofur or Thranduil. And if Thranduil, likely Caranoran, Legolas and the Elvenqueen, too. Thranduil’s love, would it turn to hate? The thought threatened to slay me. Or worse, would he decide me unworthy of his regard at all, and I’d fade from memory like a bad dream? 

“He makes life wonderful,” I managed, condensing the scope of all Bofur was and what I felt into those few words. My eyes drifted in the direction where a distance away, my toymaker likely slept on in Jarel’s humble tent, unknowing about how an elf had just torpedoed _us._ The tent was too far for me to spy, but my heart reached out as if it could go where my sight could not. Softer, “I didn’t even realize how strongly I felt until last night.”

“Smaug,” Legolas said.

I nodded. Facing him, I said, “I don’t want to lose this family, Legolas. But I can’t bear to be parted from him, either.”

Legolas’s smooth brow adopted fine lines. “I will do what I may,” he said at last.

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, and blond hair fell across one shoulder. “Don’t thank me. I fully intend to seek out this dwarf. If he is not worthy of you, it will not just be Adar standing between you. It will be me as well,” he warned. That said, he too departed, leaving me with Belegon. 

“Lady, I am sorry,” the Royal Guard offered. 

It seemed at least one elf understood. Without another word, Belegon led me to the bathing tent.

OoOoOo

Bofur woke to an empty tent and snorted under his breath, his lips twitching. _Aye, and I’ll be hearing about this from Aleks._ The last to rouse? He’d hear about it in spades, like as not. Bofur was rather looking forward to the exchange.

He rubbed palms over his face, wiping grit from his eyes, before he rolled to his feet and exited the tent with a jaunty whistle. The lass had given him every reason to be hopeful. Things were progressing nicely, indeed. 

The whistle faded upon spying Aleks scowling out across the lake, his lean frame tight and fair screaming in outrage. A swift sweep revealed no sign of Daphne. A frisson of unease went through him. Bofur’s head whipped towards the man, who rose to his feet as Bofur stepped closer to the family’s small fire pit. 

“That _elf_ collected her,” Aleks interjected before the man could speak, craning around and looking at him over one shoulder. “I’m telling you, man, I’ve had it with him. He needs to get his nose out of my family’s business.”

_Bofur, you great fool, you spoke to soon._ Jesting aside, he’d no joy in the thought of having to steal his lass away from the elf, for well did he know how she loved Thranduil. This development did not please him. At all. 

“How could he be her foster father and not yours?” Jarel asked with obvious confusion. 

Bofur tugged upon his earlobe, like as not his own brow as marked by worry as Aleks’s was by anger. “The Elvenking claims that title,” Bofur offered. “He found the lass when she was all alone.” He lifted one hand, dismissing those details. “It is a long, sad tale. We’ll share it with you over a tankard of ale one day soon.”

Jarel shook his head with a half-smile. “I’ll hold you to that, Master Dwarf.”

“He was upset over a bracelet she was wearing,” Aleks said, facing him fully. The lad looked to be a keg ready to burst, and that was a fact. 

Bofur rubbed his face. Upset? Aye, the Elvenking would be, he thought. Great fool that he was, Bofur had expected to speak to the elf himself before the bracelet led to any problems. Never would he have put his lass into such an untenable position. _If you hurt my lass, Elvenking or no, we’ll be having words._

His fingers twitched, eager to seek out the familiar weight of his lost mattock. So. It appeared he’d be needing to sway the elf to his way of thinking sooner than he’d expected. He’d not let the Elvenking deter him from his chosen course, and by Aulë’s strong beard, he’d not allow the elf to use this to harm Daphne.

_‘tis no easy task before you, Bofur, my lad,_ part of him warned. Aye, and the timing was foul as well. They must rejoin Thorin as soon as could be arranged. 

An alarming thought - what if he’d misjudged the night before? That worry wormed through Bofur’s innards with vicious single-mindedness. The Elvenking had looked to be in his right mind, but what if that should be a ruse? If Sauron yet had control of the elf, his Daphne was in peril. 

Returning to the tent, he quickly collected his belongings as well as Aleks’s. They’d be rejoining his lass, Elvenking or no.

OoOoOo

Clean, beard-free, and dressed in the clothes I’d been provided, all in Elvenking’s colors – _subtle, Gwathadar_ – I found myself in a camp that looking nothing like the one I’d entered just a quarter hour before. As soon as I exited the bathing tent, elves tackled it, tearing it down and rolling it up. In mere minutes, only two tents remained standing: Thranduil’s and the healers’.

Horses nickered, drawing my attention to the east side of the elven camp. An absolute mob of horses milled around, some in harnesses, some with heavy packs lashed to their backs. I was no expert on horseflesh, but they reminded me of the Lipizzaner stallions I’d seen on a documentary once. These were from Thranduil’s stables, and what a sight they were. I wondered if Nibenroch was among them, hidden by their larger bodies. 

The Elvenking and Legolas were neck-deep in plans for our imminent departure. They must have been coordinating with the men since I spotted Bard making his way to Thranduil’s tent at one point. With nothing to do, the concerns plaguing me began to replicate like amorous bunnies. In desperation, I finally directed my feet towards the healers’ tent.

And the Durin brothers.


	44. A Chat or Two

### Chapter 43

Aleks frowned at his companion. Sometimes, he wondered about the dwarf. There he was, the faintest grin upon his bearded mug, unarmed and marching towards the elven camp in order to confront the Elvenking. 

_He’s certifiable._

“I don’t see what you’re grinning about,” Aleks groused, resentful that he’d listened to the toymaker and left his own weapons behind, too. Even the staff Daph had entrusted into Jarel’s keeping – a staff of Bofur’s making, it turned out – remained behind. 

Bofur’s eyes twinkled up at him. “Aye, well, this will make a grand tale to be telling the little ones one day.”

A laugh burst from him. “Putting the cart before the horse, aren’t you?”

Bofur’s brows waggled, and he tugged upon one earlobe with a definitely sheepish expression. “Aye, perhaps. Yet my lass declared herself, didn’t she now, before the elvenking and the ferryman’s family?” The dwarf’s eyes gleamed. 

Declared herself? “Bofur…” His words drifted off as one of his contacts, a squirrel, shared that Daphne had finally emerged from a tent. 

“Aleks?”

His steps had trickled to a halt, too, he realized. Giving his twin a thorough inspection through the squirrel’s eyes, Aleks felt the muscles of his neck and shoulders relax a notch. She looked okay. Stressed, but safe. “That elf has her in his colors,” Aleks said by way of explanation, the words grumbled.

Bofur smiled. “Does he now?”

A short sideways look. “That’s not good news, Bofur.”

The toymaker’s smile only grew. “Is it not, Aleks? I’m thinking he’s trying to make a point. A point, I might add,” the dwarf added with a smirk, “that would not be necessary if he did not feel threatened. The colors are as much for the lass as me.” Then quieter, “My Daphne is safe?”

Aleks nodded once. “She’s headed for the healers’ tent,” he said with relief. 

“Good.” 

They shared a look of full accord. Daphne was safer with Fíli and Kíli. Neither Durin would let anything happen to her. 

Aleks’s eyes drifted forward. Green fabric tips peaked above the sea of humanity in the distance. “I don’t trust the elf.”

“Aye,” Bofur said affably enough.

Aleks shot him an irritated glance. “So we should be _armed.”_

He got a bland look in return. “No.”

“Bofur,” Aleks protested.

“No.”

Muttering under his breath, Aleks debated kicking some stones from his path. “Why not?”

Bofur halted him with one hand to his arm. The toymaker’s previous humor had evaporated with no warning. “Think, Aleks. Do ye not see how your sister loves the elf? You strike at him, and you’ll hurt _her.”_ Softer, “I’ll not allow you to harm my Daphne.”

Aleks’s temper flared, directed not at Bofur but at _him,_ the Elvenking. “She loves a façade, Bofur. He’s conning her.” Aleks cracked one knuckle, the muscles along his spine tensing up once again. “He’s going to hurt her.” His gaze returned to what he could see of the green tents. If looks could kill, they’d be aflame. “He’s faking,” he reiterated. “They all are.”

Bofur hummed noncommittally. “I’m not of a mind to agree. Evidence suggests the elves care for our Daphne in their own way. Caranoran, you must admit, is sincere enough, though well you dislike it.”

Aleks scowled, succumbing to temptation and kicking a stone. He wanted these elves out of his life, out of Daph’s life. “Really?” he asked obstinately. Bofur might have a point where Tinsel-Head was concerned, but that didn’t mean Aleks had to acknowledge it. “Then where is he? If Caranoran cares so much for Daphne, shouldn’t he be here?”

Bofur looked grimly satisfied. “Very encouraging,” the dwarf pronounced. “Very encouraging, indeed.”

_Eh, what?_ As the hatted dwarf continued on his way towards the camp, Aleks hurried to catch up. “Bofur, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

Bofur’s eyes slid his way, though his pace never slacked. “Seems no one is considering what it means that the orcs came hunting my lass,” the dwarf told him. “I’m not forgetting it. I asked the prince to see a task done for me should it appear the Elvenking was failing. His absence tells me he did as I asked.” 

Aleks’s steps faltered. Before he could pepper the dwarf with all the questions instantly filling his mind, a couple of elves approached, their trajectory a clear intent to intercept them as they reached the edges of the elven camp. 

_Later,_ Aleks promised himself. He’d grill Bofur about this later.

OoOoOo

I halted at the entrance to the healers’ tent and spun around to face Belegon. “Stay here,” I said, pointing to the patch of ground beneath us.

A blond brow twitched upward. “Lady…”

“No.” My finger poked at his chest. “I need someone to talk to. Someone unbiased.”

His second brow joined the first. “I would argue against viewing either dwarf as unbiased.”

_More so than the Elvenking or Legolas,_ I refrained from saying. Instead, I reworded my request. “I need someone I can talk to who won’t go bandying tales to Gwathadar.” Even the guard couldn’t argue that point.

His eyes narrowed against the sun, the shadow of leaves dancing across his hair. The scars upon his cheek tightened for a moment, then he gaze down on me, his expression softer. “The Elvenking will not be pleased,” he said drily. 

My tentative smile grew as I saw the capitulation upon his face. “Thank you, Belegon.” I could have danced a jig in relief. 

He shook his head with an almost dwarfish snort. “You were not forbidden contact with all dwarves. Should the Elvenking take issue, I pray that will spare me from the brunt of his ire.”

The little balloon of happiness deflated upon mention of Thranduil's decree. My gaze strayed again towards Jarel’s tent. I only just discovered the depth of my feelings for Bofur, and now this had to happen. I needed time with him, time to assure myself that it all wasn’t just a figment of my imagination or some flight of fancy. I didn’t think it was – deep down, I knew it wasn’t – but this thing between us was so new to me. I hadn’t had time to wrap my head around it. My heart was committed, but my head needed that time, demanded it, even. 

Not that I was likely to get it. 

Slipping into the tent, I found it mostly emptied. A handful of occupied cots stood here and there, but the rest must have been deconstructed, leaving gaps in what had been orderly rows. Healers scurried about, packing away vials and pouches of herbs into leather saddle bags. 

The Durins chatted half way down from the entrance, Fíli lying on a cot while Kíli sat tailor-style by his head. Unlike the healers’ quiet dignity, the dwarves were loud and boisterous. 

Bofur was right. I loved the elves, but there were times when they were _too_ quiet and reserved. They never laughed until tears ran down their cheeks. It wasn’t their way. I didn’t doubt that they felt things deeply. Their dignity and poise simply didn’t permit such free expression. 

Kíli spotted me first. With a nudge to his brother’s arm, he interrupted their conversation. “Mistress Daphne,” Kíli greeted, climbing to his feet with his trademark grin. 

“Thank Durin you have arrived,” Fíli said before Kíli had a chance to continue. The heir shook his head with a mock dismay at his brother. “I’ve not had a moment’s reprieve from this strutting rooster.”

“Rooster?” Kíli’s head whipped around. “Oi!”

Sunlight broke through my cloud of gloom. My lip curled, reluctant at first but picking up strength at Kíli’s outraged expression. “Find another pretty elf maid, have you, Kíli?” I asked lightly as I made my way to them. 

Back Kíli’s head swung, a scowl on his lips but laughter dancing in his dark eyes. Out of his sight, Fíli winked at me. “You wound me, Mistress Daphne,” Kíli proclaimed with a hand to his chest. 

“So you weren’t checking out the ladies here?” I touched Kíli’s arm in greeting and quickly dropped down to a seat on the grass near Fíli, legs curled to one side. The blessing of Elvish tents - no floors to bar me from the natural carpet underfoot. My fingers instantly burrowed into green grass.

_“Checking out?”_ Kíli echoed. His gamine grin reappeared. “Dare I ask?”

I wrinkled my nose and directed my attention to Fíli, my good mood fading. “Fíli, how are you? Truly?” The memory of pressing that sopping cloak over his wound remained with me. 

Fíli’s braided mustache twitched with his quirky smile. “Elvish healing is a wonder.”

“Oin could do as well,” Kíli staunchly defended.

“Likely he could,” Fíli conceded with a surreptitious flick of the eye skyward. Changing the subject, “Word is we will be on the road shortly.”

A touch of panic iced through me. One way or the other, Bofur and Aleks would be showing up, and I still had no idea what to do. If I didn’t speak now, when would I have a chance? Fíli, Kíli – at this stage, I didn’t care who it was, just that I could talk to someone, because I couldn’t see my way through this. If I disobeyed Gwathadar, I’d be deemed a traitor and likely lose him. If I obeyed Thranduil, I’d drive a wedge between Bofur and me. 

Fíli frowned. Pale eyes swept over me. “Kíli, find me some ale.”

The younger Durin’s head whipped back to his brother, brows climbing into his hairline. “Ale?”

Fíli snorted, a lopsided smile tilting up one side of his mouth. “I’ll need it to get through the journey ahead,” he admitted.

Enlightenment dawned along with another of Kíli’s brilliant smiles. “I’ll find some, Brother.”

“You should not be imbibing,” one healer objected. Elvish hearing being what it was, anything said was clearly fair game. 

“You do things your way, I’ll do them mine,” Fíli countered, throwing the male a crooked smile to take the sting from his words. 

With a sniff of disapproval, the elf retreated. Kíli left in search of ale.

“That was easier than I’d expected,” Fíli told me in a dry tone. Swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, hands braced upon the side support beam, he gave me serious eyes from beneath lowered brows. “What is it that has you so worried? Are Aleks and Bofur not well? Why have they not joined us?”

Chin wobbling out of control, I said, “Fíli, I need your help.”

OoOoOo

Legolas followed a Royal Guard from the tent, his adar’s gaze a heavy weight upon him.

So. The dwarf had arrived. 

His searching eyes cast about for the would-be suitor. A suitor, he was almost certain, who would prove unworthy, thereby freeing him to throw his support behind his adar. The sooner that happened, the sooner Hwinneth could be guided to look elsewhere for the affection she craved.

Legolas quickly located the two shorter figures waiting at the edge of the encampment. The satyr, he dismissed after a short, hard look. The dwarf, however… Legolas frowned. The dwarf was nothing like he’d anticipated. Expecting one more akin to Oakenshield in pride and dignity, his first sighting of Hwinneth’s choice was less than promising. 

He recognized him. This was the dwarf Hwinneth had clung to after the skirmish with the giant spiders in Mirkwood. The dwarf’s clothes were shabby, his hat ludicrous, and his grin that of a simpleton. _This, Hwinneth?_ Only the memory of his foster sister’s heartfelt, “He makes life wonderful,” prevented him from ordering the dwarf thrown from the camp and barred permanently. 

He’d promised her he would speak with the dwarf, and he’d not be forsworn.

OoOoOo

Legolas again.

Aleks folded his arms before his chest and let Bofur do the talking. Daph might resent the snot out of it later, but he was eavesdropping for all he was worth, gleaning from her every scrap of information he could via the squirrel he’d snuck into the tent behind her. 

_Underhanded, Hunt,_ a small voice pronounced.

Aleks knew some of what he was hearing wasn’t for his ears, but he wasn’t budging. _She’s going to ruin this._ Frustration filled him. Just what kind of hold did the elf have on her? Why was she so terrified of disappointing him? Daphne should have told that elf just where he could go with his ultimatums, but instead, she sounded like she might actually do what the Elvenking told her! 

_No way._ Not if he had anything to do about it. 

He inched the squirrel closer, tempted to nip her. Aleks had never seen her happier than with Bofur. If she needed a nudge in the right direction, he was more than willing to give it.

OoOoOo

Bofur spared Aleks a brief glance, reassured to find the lad’s eyes glassy, his face intent but unalarmed. The lass remained safe with Fíli.

“Prince Legolas,” Bofur greeted, rocking upon his heels and smiling up at the elf. “Fine day for a stroll, I hear. Though ‘tis not very mannerly to take something from another while out enjoying the fresh air.”

Blue eyes narrowed down upon him. “She is not yours, dwarf.”

Bofur knew his smile turned a mite smug at that. Smug, aye, and satisfied. “The lass declared it to be so. Before witnesses. Yourself included, I hear.”

The prince’s lips twisted as if he’d bitten into a mouthful of something unexpectedly sour. “She does not know your ways,” the elf said.

True enough, though Bofur would never concede the point. “Thrice I have entrusted my lass to your care,” Bofur responded. _“Thrice,_ Prince. Do you know how many times you elves have successfully protected her of the three?” A false smile. “Go on, take a guess.”

Legolas frowned. “I know of no…”

“Nay, you would not,” Bofur interrupted. He dropped any illusion of affability. Holding up one hand, he lifted a finger. “First, I trusted your brother, Caranoran, to protect my lass while we dwarves scouted the Misty Mountains for further paths into the mountain. Your brother and guards all abandoned their post at the wizard’s behest, and my lass was almost lost.”

The elf’s lips parted, surely in objection.

Bofur didn’t wish to hear it. His second finger flew up. “Second, I trusted Guard Belegon and yourself to keep my lass safe upon our return to the Elvenking’s Halls.” His eyes narrowed. “She was thrown into a pit of freezing water, Prince.” The third finger joined the other two. “The third time, I left her in your sire’s care. Yet where do I find her last eve but sitting alone, _unprotected,_ upon the banks of the Long Lake herself. And while I’m appreciative of her company, it was not well done. You must know as well as I the danger she is in.” 

Bofur stepped closer to the elf, ignoring the way the elven guards tensed as if ready to strike. Legolas lifted a palm, silently ordering them to stand down. “I’ll be asking you plainly, Prince Legolas. Is your sire free of the Dark Lord’s taint?”

The elf stiffened, his lips compressing. Blue eyes speared down at him. “Dwarf,” he warned.

Bofur’s arms crossed before his chest. “Nay, do not be dismissing my fear. The lot of you have been too lax where my Daphne’s safety is concerned. He hunts her, Prince. _He_ hunts my lass. I’ll be knowing she’s safe from that danger now, or I’ll be searching her out myself.”

Silence reigned as the elf’s eyes seemed to burn down upon him. Bofur waited him out, unwilling to be moved by his ire. 

“You truly care for her,” the prince said at last, his voice ripe with disbelief.

Bofur frowned. Why was it these elves always assumed they alone possessed the ability to care for another? “You take her from me, and you might as well remove my still-beating heart,” he said harshly, the words a raw baring of his soul. “Now, answer my question. Is she safe with your sire?”

OoOoOo

Fíli stroked his braids, a pensive expression on his face. “You realize Thorin would be a better person to be asking for guidance.” A snort and a wry twist of the lips. “Then again, with the Elvenking involved, perhaps not.”

I was surprised into sharing a snicker with him. 

“I can see it. I’m not saying I agree, but Thorin might well have done the same had Kíli followed through on his pursuit of the elf maid…” Fíli stopped and corrected himself with a brief smile, “…any of the elf _maids_ he took a shine to.” 

Poor Kíli. He was never going to live this trip down. 

Fíli leaned forward, capturing my wrist and bringing the bracelet close for inspection. He chuckled lightly. “Only our Bofur.” Letting my hand go, he abruptly asked, “Would you have hidden it? If you’d known what it meant?”

That bracelet was back before my chest in a flash, held protectively as I scowled at him. “No, I would not,” I said in indignation. “He gave it to me, Fíli. He actually _made_ it.” It still amazed me the detail and care he’d bestowed upon each small wooden panel. One side of my mouth curled up as I fingered the panel with the smooching pooch. 

“Do you love him?” 

I met his gaze with quiet certainty. “Yes.” I exhaled slowly. _Yes._ I’d known it before, but discussing everything with Fíli had served to solidify it in my mind and heart. It steadied me. 

Fíli grunted, lips tightening as he adjusted his seat. “Don’t discount Bofur,” he advised. 

“Thranduil will never agree.” 

Fíli snorted. A quick, wickedly gleeful grin claimed him. “With all due respect, the Elvenking has never come across anyone quite like Bofur. Thorin could tell you tales of his stubbornness.” Then more seriously, “But I do see your quandary.” With a cock of the head, he asked, “What do you know of dwarves and their Ones?”

My fingers whitened around the bracelet. I’d heard the term before. It was a rarity among the dwarves, finding a One. Rather like hitting the jackpot. “Not much.” With narrowed eyes, I wondered where he was going with this.

“You are Bofur’s One,” he said softly, nodding when I jerked upright where I sat. “There is no doubt. He’s never shown interest in pursuing a maid. Not ever, to my knowledge. Only a One would cause a dwarf of his maturity to change his life course so drastically and begin courtship. He was well contented with bachelorhood until you came along.”

Before I could get all flattered and giddy, Fíli leaned forward, elbows upon his knees and hands dangling between them. “He needs you,” he said bluntly. “Returning to life as it was before won’t work.” 

A lump of thick emotion clogged my throat. Fear. Hope. Love. Panic. It was none and yet all of them. Merciful heavens, what was I doing? I’d never dated, never once dipped a toe into that pool, and here I was with a good dwarf’s heart in my hands. I was terrified of a misstep. 

“Daphne, what is it you seek from the future?”

At the question, the floor fell out under me. Future? I’d stopped thinking beyond the present years ago. I planned nothing, for I trusted little. A pang hit me. In the Elvenking’s Halls and under his watchful eye, I had healed, but even there I had not dared look beyond the next day or the day after. It had been so long since I’d done so that I hadn’t even realized its lack. The most I had considered the future had been Thorin’s arrival and his fate down the road. Beyond that, not so much as a glimmer of thought had been spent. 

So…what _did_ I want? 

“I don’t want to be separated from him,” I said, eyes locked upon that wooden panel. My thumb drifted over the spaniel. “But I don’t want to dishonor Thranduil.” Eyes lifting, I begged him to understand, “He rescued me, Fíli. He cared when he didn’t have to.”

Fíli stared down at me for a long stretch. Elves bustled about, entering and exiting my field of sight. Neither of us paid them any mind. At last, he said, “You cannot remain among the elves. I am sorry if my words cause you pain, but you need to hear them.”

“Why?” I burst, just as stubbornly refusing to give up Thranduil and my new family as Bofur.

“They won’t age, Daphne,” he said quietly. “Even should you live a long, full life, they will age not one day beyond what you see now. You, however, will.”

He didn’t need to go on. I blanched. _Immortal._ Reading about elves and their longevity via fanfiction was vastly different from having that agelessness impact my life directly. My mind took the fodder he’d provided, painting a picture: me, aging as the years passed by while the Elvenking and his family looked on. What would it be like to be surrounded by people who would remain forever beautiful as my face lined with age and my body bent? People who could never hope to understand what it was to be mortal?

_Dwarves age slower, too._ Spots danced in my vision. Somehow, Fíli was beside me. Kíli, too. 

“Breathe,” Fíli urged.

“What did you say to her?” Kíli demanded. 

“Give me that ale,” Fíli ordered. 

A cup was pressed to my lips, and then liquid fire burned down my throat to my belly. I gasped for breath, head clearing in one fashion as it glazed over in another. “He’s going to outlive me, Fíli,” I managed. 

A hand rubbed my back in soothing circles. “Not like you are thinking,” Fíli denied. 

“Who?” Kíli asked.

“Bofur,” Fíli answered shortly. “And no, Daphne. Aleks told me you naiads can live to one hundred and twenty years. I’d say barring accidents…”

“Or a Dark Lord,” I babbled.

Kíli rolled his eyes. “Is she always so gloomy? Here give her more of this.” 

The cup was again shoved in my face, and I choked down a couple mouthfuls around sputtered objections. I was not being gloomy! “Kíli!” I shuddered, thrusting the vile brew from me. “That is wretched.”

“It’s ale,” he said, as if my objection was totally baffling. 

Fíli snorted, throwing an amused look his brother’s way. “As I was saying, you have roughly the same years left to your lives. If it was me or Kíli, then yes, you would be old before we reached midlife. But Bofur is one hundred and forty-eight years old. You may age at different rates but you’ll arrive in your dotage about the same time.” A quirk of the lips.

_Dotage._ I glared at him weakly, then rubbed my eyes. I had the distinct feeling exhaustion and emotional upheaval were turning me into a wreck. _Dotage._ I sagged. Actually, I could get used to that idea. 

“I really want to talk to him,” I said, shocked to hear the forlorn words escaping my lips. They were true but horribly vulnerable and private. 

Fíli gave me a short shake. “You’ll join us,” he said. “I’ve seen the two of you together. You would both be miserable apart. In the end, there is only one choice you can make: Bofur.” His breath puffed across the crown of my head. “You ask my counsel? Let me speak with Bofur. You take this time to spend with the elves you love. Prepare to say goodbye should it become necessary.” His gaze skirted around the tent. He’d noticed what I had not, that the healers were all busy elsewhere, leaving us in privacy. Lower, he said, “If need be, we’ll extricate you when the battle rages heaviest.”

My hands knotted together, and I swallowed tightly. They would, too, these dwarves. “It’s treason,” I whispered. “For me. If you guys were caught, Thranduil might view it an act of war.”

Kíli smirked. “We have an invisible hobbit.”

They’d make _Bilbo_ rescue me? I stared at the younger Durin like he’d grown a second head, unable to help it. No, Kíli didn’t know about all that hinged upon Bilbo’s survival, and really, the hobbit was the idea choice if not for that. But I was aghast at how much my personal life was now threatening to fire bomb what was left of the time-line. 

For the first time in a long while it occurred to me to wonder who _had_ brought me to Middle Earth and why, because if the intention was to bring about the end of the world, it looked like I was doing a bang-up job getting it done. Aleks and I combined were like the ultimate Middle Earth wrecking ball.

I rubbed at my face with both palms and dashed away another stray tear. Focusing on the elder Durin, I asked, “Fíli, if I do this, what happens to your relations with the elves? Will Thorin ever forgive me for this?” Imagining Thorin’s fury should he take offense to this whole mess made want to curl up in a corner. 

“Daphne.” A strong hand came to my shoulder and squeezed gently. He waited until my chin lifted. “If you think Thorin cares what that elf thinks, you’ve not been paying attention. If anything, he’ll be proud to boast that one of his dwarves bearded the elf in his own stronghold.”

Oh. No. All thoughts screeched to a halt to make room for this latest wrinkle. How could I not have realized it? Fíli’s words pointed out just how much an insult my defection would be to Thranduil. _I don’t want to hurt him!_ My fingers fisted in my hair. 

“The last thing I want to do is to make Gwathadar a laughingstock.” Dwarves loved nothing so well as good ale and an even better tale. I could just picture it - thousands upon thousands of bearded dwarves in their mighty halls from the Iron Hills to the Blue Mountains, all of them yukking it up at Thranduil’s expense. 

Case in point: Fíli. His pale eyes lit up, betraying just how much he enjoyed the idea. He was all but sniggering under his breath. I didn’t dare check to see what Kíli’s response would be.

“Fíli,” I objected. “You aren’t helping.”

“Daphne,” Fíli said, the laughter in his eyes softening. “Bofur will do everything in his considerable power to sway the Elvenking to his side. Don’t give up just yet.”

Fíli hadn’t witnessed Thranduil’s reaction when he’d spotted my bracelet. As if the thought was a trigger, my fingers raced to the object in question and traced along its grooves. 

“But.”

I looked up, sight all wonky again with tears. “But?”

“I understand loyalty to your king,” he said with compassion. “Loyalty to your father. I could not easily act against Thorin’s wishes. I understand. I really do.” 

Kíli muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Foolishness.”

Fíli’s hard gaze cut to him, then slid back. “This is a decision only you can make. Let me ease one fear. For the Company, I can assure you that even should you remain with the elves, none would hate you.”

_Don’t bawl. Don’t bawl. Don’t bawl._ Darn it, I was going to bawl.

“But.”

Again with the “but”. I blinked rapidly, trying to bring Fíli back into focus. 

“If you _do,”_ he said, beaming down at me with high humor, “don’t be surprised when Bofur camps out on your doorstep and refuses to leave.”

OoOoOo

Legolas spotted movement. The man, Bard, exited the Elvenking’s tent and walked in his direction, ending the dwarf’s uncomfortable and impertinent line of questioning. Bard’s eyes lit with recognition upon spying the dwarf. Recognition, Legolas decided with some surprise, and respect.

“Master Bofur.” Bard joined them with a half bow to the dwarf. “I cannot ever repay you for all you have done.”

All the _dwarf_ had done? Legolas stilled, his focus honing in all the more. He noted absently the naiad’s continuing silence with a spurt of suspicion, but the conversation between man and dwarf captured his attention. 

The dwarf nodded to the man. “Your family is well? Your daughters and son?”

“Very, thank you.” Bard’s head tilted to one side. “Your lady?”

Bofur beamed. That was the only way to describe it. As proud, Legolas realized, as if she was his wife already. _Presumptuous dwarf._ “Safe,” the dwarf in question answered. “She is in this very camp, visiting her elven relatives.”

_Visiting?_ Legolas echoed with increasing incredulity. He almost spoke, but Bard beat him to it.

“Elven relatives?” A brief flash of worry appeared upon the man’s face.

Bofur snorted. “Aye, and your Master is fortunate to have escaped the Elvenking’s wrath, for sure as an elf does love his tights…”

“We do not wear tights,” Logolas objected immediately, appalled at the accusation.

Sparkling eyes turned his way. “Tights, leggings, ‘tis all one, Master Elf,” the dwarf dared tease before returning to the man. “The Elvenking’s fury would have been felt by the Master most keenly.” The dwarf tugged upon one earlobe. “She is his foster daughter.”

Bard whistled lowly. “There is a story there.”

“Aye,” the dwarf agreed. “One I promised to share with the ferryman over a tankard when our current crisis is done. You’re welcome to join us.”

Bard dipped his head, lips twitching. “Fully embellished, one might assume?”

“Oh aye,” the dwarf agreed with a bigger grin. “What use is a tale without the embellishing?”

“I look forward to it. Gentlemen, I take my leave of you,” Bard said with a last dip of the head. Legolas inclined his head, but once again, the naiad stood as if frozen. 

_He is doing something._ Legolas’s hand touched one sword, his mind racing. Daphne had told them that as a dryad had an affinity for growing things, so did the satyrs for…animals. That was it. His narrowed gaze swept over the camp.

Bofur nodded shortly, and Bard left. Then, the dwarf had the gall, the unmitigated _gall,_ to wink up at Legolas. 

Legolas gnashed his teeth together and – by Eru! – the dwarf’s lips twitched. “What is he,” Legolas demanded, jabbing one finger at the naiad, “doing?”

The dwarf plastered an innocent expression upon his face, brows lifted high.

“Do not play with me, dwarf,” Legolas warned.

Intense eyes stared up at him, the smile fading. “Ah, but you elves make it so very hard to resist,” the dwarf said. Head tilted to one side, he said, “You claim the lass as sister. If you did not trust those surrounding her, what would you do in the lad’s shoes? You’d see to it she was protected.”

Legolas’s gaze snapped back to the naiad. “She is fine,” he finally said. 

“Aye, or the lad here would have reacted by now. He watches, Master Elf. That is all.”

He could almost respect that, Legolas thought. Almost. Abandoning the thought, he turned back to the dwarf. “It seems your wish has been granted. Lord Bard has taken his leave. That means Adar is waiting for you.”

The dwarf nodded once. “Good.”

Legolas inwardly shook his head. Did this dwarf have no sense of self preservation? “Naiad,” he said sharply.

Green eyes cleared, focused upon him. 

“Will you be joining Hwinneth’s would-be suitor? Or shall I escort you from the camp?” Legolas asked.

“Neither,” the dwarf answered before the naiad could do more than frown. “Aleks joins his sister.” A blunt finger pointed in Legolas’s face as he prepared to deny the request. “If she was your sister, your blood kin, you’d demand the same.”

Legolas stared down at the dwarf, mind full of thoughts all centering around this…Bofur. He’d always thought dwarves annoying in the extreme, but this one took the prize. “Very well,” he said at last. “The naiad will rejoin Oakenshield’s heirs and,” he overrode the satyr as he looked ready to argue, _“my_ sister. You,” he directed to the dwarf with a cold smile, “will meet with the Elvenking.”

OoOoOo

Alone with the Elvenking, Bofur bowed at the waist with a correctness unmatched in his life. _Ah, if your dam could be seeing you now, Bofur my lad, she’d be smacking you for wasting such manners upon an elf._ Aye, most certainly she would since it was rare indeed that he gave his own king this respect, and Thorin merited it.

Unlike the elf. 

When he straightened, pale eyes met his over the expanse of a wooden desk. “So, dwarf. You come to me.” The elf rose to his feet slowly. “Though you come late.”

Bofur was growing heartily sick of elvish condescension. Keeping his tone light, he replied, “Aye, I’ve come, and not late as you well know. The bracelet is a sign between the lass and myself. No blessing is required before its gifting.” Bofur rocked on his heels, studying the elf. He opted for bluntness. “If we do not come to an accord, Daphne will be hurt, and that I’ll not allow.”

The face before him hardened. _“You’ll_ not allow?” 

“The lass is fond of you,” Bofur continued, not really caring if the elf took affront to his words or not. He’d come to be heard, and heard he would be. 

Thranduil’s head tilted to one side. “That sentiment is returned,” he answered coolly, a warning.

Then why, Bofur asked himself, did the elf not care that his actions might deeply wound the lass? _Try another tact._ “To be sure, I was shocked you allowed her to watch for us last eve,” Bofur commented. He’d try for some humor, though little did he expect the elf to thaw. Bofur’s lips lifted in a lopsided grin. “Elf and dwarf relations being as congenial as they are.” 

Thranduil frowned, a slight crease appearing upon his brow. 

‘twas like trying to coax humor from an ice floe, it was. Elfish humor. An oxymoron to be sure. Bofur’s smile turned edged. “I say again - my lass needs accord betwixt the two of us, and I mean to see it done.”

OoOoOo

Aleks debated long and hard before he crossed the threshold of the healers’ tent. Long enough that Belegon drawled, “Are you in need of assistance? Is the canvas too heavy for you, Master Aleks?”

Smart aleck. He almost confided his conflict, but then remembered – elf – and shook his head. He’d intended to storm in and inject spine into his twin, but now he wasn’t so sure. He’d heard Daphne’s words. If it had been Thorin telling Aleks to go against his heart, what would he do? A part of him grumbled it wouldn’t happen, but he tried to put himself into Daphne’s shoes. She’d had a wretched day, to put it mildly. 

Inspiration struck. It was silly, and he could feel the tips of his ears flush red to dare such a thing, but… _Bofur wouldn’t hesitate._ A wry counter-thought: Bofur would stand on his head if he believed the situation called for it. The dwarf wouldn’t think twice. And as much as Aleks liked the guy, he didn’t want to become him. 

Still… Aleks decided to go for broke. Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead, as the saying went. Shoulders back, he leaped into the tent with a flourish, pulling a sad face as he sang the opening lines to Daniel Powter’s _A Bad Day._ It was goofy. It was totally embarrassing with Fíli and Kíli staring at him with bug eyes that quickly watered with tears of mirth. 

But his sister went from white-faced, teary despair to wide-eyed shock, and finally collapsed into a giggling bundle of dryad in two seconds flat.

In Aleks’s book, that was a win.

OoOoOo

Bofur tugged upon his earlobe. That the Elvenking had no liking for the idea of a dwarf with his Hwinneth was in no way a surprise. He’d expected as much long before the events of this morning. A number of choice comments came to mind, but Bofur stuck with his course. To exercise the sharp edge of his tongue on the elf would be enjoyable, aye, but it would wound his Daphne in the end.

“I’ll be wanting your blessing,” he said, deciding plain talk the best track to take. 

“You presume much,” the elf said icily, those blue eyes igniting with a flame. “Do you believe I would ever entrust one of mine to a _dwarf?”_

_Aye, well, I didn’t expect it to be simple._ “Aye, if you wish her happiness. She’s been hurt enough,” Bofur said. 

“What do you want?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “Hard of hearing, are you?” and offer to fetch an ear horn like Oin’s, but he locked the words between his teeth. “Bofur,” he corrected politely. Then he grinned. “Seeing as I’m fixing to be your son-in-law, of a sort, I think you might wish to remember it.”

At that, the Elvenking looked ready to erupt like an icy volcano, so he hastily continued, deciding to place all of his cards on the table. “The first time I saw the lass,” he said softly, “she was a pitiful sight, for sure. Wounded by her brother, and badly at that. So closed down, she was,” he continued. “Afraid to show any emotion around her twin.” He saw recognition flare upon the Elvenking’s face. “Took disturbing the peace of Lord Elrond’s fine dining hall to make her smile the first time.” In an aside, unable to resist, “Elfish tables are _not_ meant for dancing.” A sad shake of the head. 

The Elvenking appeared a mite incredulous, but Bofur would not be deterred, discovering that this candid recital was just as much fun as insulting the elf would have been. So reserved, these elves.

“Then I spied her with a young lad. Have you seen her with children?”

A slow incline of the head.

_Eh, well enough._ “Aye, then ye know. She fair puts the moon to shame.” He pursed his lips. “You can say I’m not worthy of her, a simple toymaker, and aye, there may be some truth to that. But you’ll be hard pressed to find anyone who cares for her more.”

“A dwarf?” the king said with scorn. 

From beneath lowered brows, Bofur responded with a bit of heat of his own, “None o’ your elves will wed her. So I pointed out to your youngest and so I say to you. Her life is but a candle compared to your own, but it is all the more precious for it. Would you deny her a life? Children?”

The Elvenking leaned forward, face as warm as a bitter winter morn. “I would sooner see her alone and childless than bound to a dwarf.”

Bofur’s own temper kindled, his patience nearing its end. “And with such words in your mouth, you claim to love her?” He folded his arms before him. It was time to introduce some cold, hard facts. Likely, the elf knew them fully, but they bore repeating. Using a deliberately matter-of-fact tone, he said, “She is not safe with you. As much as you might wish otherwise, you must know this to be true. The Dark Lord is aware of the knowledge our Daphne possesses.” The elf’s face darkened. Bofur pressed on. “What do you plan to do, lock her away? Hide her from his sight? His forces will never stop seeking her. Your people will be under siege.”

“Do not _dare_ tell me about my people, Dwarf,” the elf spat. 

“Then think of the lass,” Bofur said with matching heat. “You are the _Elvenking._ She cannot hope to disappear when standing next to you!”

“I can protect my own daughter,” Thranduil hissed.

“Not with the might of Mordor focused upon your kingdom alone,” Bofur said, leaning his fists upon the desk. “She must disappear, Elvenking. To live, my lass must vanish, and the Dark Lord must believe her dead, else he’ll never stop hounding her.”

OoOoOo

Thranduil stared at the dwarf, a dull, painful horror growing within his bowels. Had he not realized the very facts this Bofur voiced?

“She’ll not have a life of any kind if we do not act to protect her. In your court, too many eyes will be upon her. Do you really believe the Dark Lord unable to sway even one of them to his purposes? You know the stories better than I – you were _there_ when last he marched…”

A low bellow of rage escaped him, and Thranduil dashed an unlit lantern from his desk. It smashed into the ground, stopping the dwarf’s words in their tracks. Legolas rushed in, sword unsheathed and eyes wide. 

“Ada?”

“Get this dwarf away from me,” the Elvenking commanded, facing the back wall of his pavilion. The dwarf’s accusing stare burned his back, but he did not face him. Did the dwarf believe he was ignorant of the danger he’d placed his Hwinneth in? Did he believe _dwarves_ could protect her better than those who cared for her? 

Footsteps retreated. Thranduil abruptly spoke again, “Send my daughter to me, Legolas. She will ride at my side.” Where he could be assured she was safe. 

In less than a second, he stood alone in his tent. 

Anger drained away, leaving him tired once more. Events kept racing out of his control, and his temper was a jagged, unsheathed thing. He’d intended an icy, chilling demeanor, something sure to cow and deter a dwarf.

A reluctant snort. Instinct told Thranduil that even at his most chilling, this Bofur would not have relented. _Much like his king in that regard._ A part of him whispered he, too, would have been as intractable in his pursuit of Rinel, but he dismissed it. The situation was completely different.

His mind returned to Bofur’s summation of Hwinneth’s plight. Did the dwarf’s words not echo his own thoughts? Had he not worried about Hwinneth’s fate? 

Hands slightly shaking, he poured himself a draught of red wine and gulped it down. Then, he reclaimed his iron calm with absolute determination. No time for this. Not with a march before him and a battle soon to follow.

OoOoOo

As the healers’ tent was deconstructed, the four of us – well, five counting Belegon – waited in a cluster. All around, elves mounted horses or assembled in orderly rows on foot. The air was ripe with urgency.

My own pulse sped up in response. Like the elves, I was ready to leave this place, though I wasn’t looking forward to what was before us. I tried not to think about more of what I’d already seen: bodies torn up, blood spurting, and people dying. 

My eyes were pretty much glued to Thranduil’s tent where they’d been since Aleks had informed me Bofur had ventured inside to speak with Gwathadar. I wiped sweaty palms upon my skirts. 

“He’s fine,” Aleks said.

I frowned. 

“Daph, I have a squirrel in there. He’s fine.”

He had… The incongruity of it, a squirrel used for espionage, drew a laugh from me. 

“Are you mad?” Belegon said lowly, seriously affronted. “You proclaim this openly to me and every other elf in this encampment?”

Aleks lifted one brow, unimpressed. “In case you have forgotten, Guard Belegon, your king threw my sister and me into a pit of freezing water. He was under the influence of an outside force. I don’t trust him. So, yes, I’m telling you now I will keep an eye upon anyone I care about when they are in his presence.” He stepped nearer to the scarred guard. “I really don’t care if you like it or not.”

“Aleks,” I warned. 

Narrowed green eyes returned to me. “Tell me that king is free, Daph, and I’ll back off.” He quickly amended, “Maybe.”

I flashed hot, then cold. _Um._ I’d seen no evidence of Sauron, but how did I break it to Aleks that I hadn’t really checked? That I’d been so consumed with my own drama that I’d spaced the big picture? _Self absorbed, much?_ I winced. Thranduil was my gwathadar. How could I neglect something so important? 

“You forgot,” Aleks sighed, touching my arm.

“I forgot,” I admitted.

Aleks slung an arm around my shoulders. The embrace was all kinds of awkward – we were not yet accustomed to our new relationship, I thought. In a soft voice, Aleks admitted, “I did the same, only with you.”

“Me?” I asked in surprise.

Aleks murmured, “As Bofur is reminding the Elvenking, the Big Evil is after you, Daph. You are not out of the woods yet.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Can you check him?”

Aleks pursed his lips. “I’ve seen him before, remember,” he told me. “His energy… It’s different Daph. I’ll look, but I suspect you’d have better luck.”

So much for that. 

Aleks’s gentle hold turned hard as Legolas suddenly drew his sword and raced into Thranduil’s tent. I think we were both a split second from charging in there after him when he reappeared a second later with Bofur thrust before him. Legolas looked less than happy, but my eyes were all for my toymaker. 

He was okay. Bofur instantly smiled and winked as our eyes met. 

“Hwinneth, Adar calls for you,” Legolas said as they neared. I took a step towards Bofur, but Legolas instantly cautioned, “You have been instructed to avoid this dwarf.” Lower, “Ada has not recovered from lack of sleep. Do not cross him in this.” Sympathy. Caution.

Lack of sleep? Again, I berated myself. I should have known. 

Bofur’s eyes crinkled with warmth. He sure didn’t look like a dwarf who’d been raked over the coals, but then again, would he, my perpetual optimist? I must have stared a second too long, for he winked again, his grin growing. 

Thranduil exited his tent and lifted one hand. A swarm of elves were there in an instant to dismantle it. Pale, blue eyes watched me like a hawk as I made my way to him, satisfaction curling his lips upward.

“Ride with me,” Thranduil invited when I halted before him. There was no sign of his former anger. Standing there in full armor, his feet shod in solid boots, I could not see his energy – I would need some sort of living greenery to do that – but he looked normal. 

Aleks’s concern became mine. Was he free? Safe? As he turned and headed towards the horses, I fell in beside him and searched for a way to broach the subject. “I _was_ injured. My dryad side,” I blurted. 

_Suave, Daphne. Real suave._ As far as openings to the topic went, that one bombed. Clunky and random, to say the least. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Belegon trailing us protectively, and beyond him, Bofur. 

The Elvenking’s head dipped forward, and his steps slowed. “I did not doubt that, _penneth.”_

I took an unsteady inhale. “I haven’t told Aleks, but I’m starting to recover.” 

The Elvenking stared down at me, silent. His hand came to rest upon the crown of my head. Finally, “I am relieved.”

“I’m seeing energy again, though I cannot understand what the plants are saying,” I shared. With some serious eye-contact, “I’d like to inspect you.”

At that, his face blanked. “You do not trust me,” he said in very neutral tones.

Both of us were thinking of what had happened in Mirkwood. It was there for each of us to read in the other. “I trust _you,”_ I said at last. 

A glimmer of a smile. “Trust me in this, Hwinneth. The voice is gone. My mind is my own.” 

That was great and all, but what if Sauron still had a hook into him? With tentative care, I broached, “Gwathadar, you are too important. To your people, your family…me.”

Another minute smile. “I will not risk injury to you.”

“Sire,” I argued softly. His gaze shot to mine at the title. _“He_ will be roaming the battlefield.” Blue fire flared up within his eyes though his face did not change by so much as a twitch. “We need you. I need you. Please. Just think about it, okay? If you’re worried, I’ll have Aleks help me.”

His hand dismissed that, the motion sharp. “I do not trust him.”

I nodded. So much had happened since we’d last had the opportunity to really talk. There were dozens of events he knew nothing about. “I didn’t either.”

“What changed?” he asked, his hand to my shoulder, concern upon his face. “Penneth, what prompts you to risk injury again by his hand?” 

An ellon led two mounts to us – the Elvenking’s impressive stag and a dainty, cream-colored mare. My gaze drifted towards where Aleks stood with Fíli and Kíli. Thranduil didn’t notice as he mounted, I didn’t think, but little squirrels hopped around in the vicinity, keeping us in sight. _Cute, Aleks._

Like a magnet, I found Bofur again. The toymaker whistled under his breath as he moseyed after us, not approaching but keeping us in sight. An elf gave him a strange look as she passed by, and he beamed at her. The expression that crossed her face? Priceless. 

He really did like messing with them, I thought with a small grin of my own. Bofur caught my gaze and winked. 

I laughed. “Everything,” I told my gwathadar, my smile remaining in place. “I didn’t believe it at first, either, but he’s different.” 

“I would remove the threat to you if I believed you would allow it,” he commented. No room was left for doubt – he meant every word. I was again reminded of just how coldly pragmatic the Elvenking could be. It was like a cold bucket in the face, never mind the water. “And the dwarf?” he asked with heavy disapproval. “Hwinneth, they cannot be trusted. They care for nothing but their treasures.”

After I’d been assisted onto my own steed, my gaze was drawn irrevocably to the toymaker. He was nothing like I’d imagined when dreaming up my future guy, but it was becoming clear that for me, he was it. Broad shoulders, strong face, and perpetual cheer – what was not to like?

Using the same words I’d offered to Legolas, I said, “He makes life wonderful. He’s smart, Gwathadar. Much more so than anyone thinks. You are wrong about him. He loves people more than things. Children.”

“He danced upon Lord Elrond’s table,” he countered with heavy disapproval as he led us to the head of the mounted assembly. 

I looked back again, making sure Bofur, Aleks, Fíli, and Kíli were being provided mounts, too. Aleks vaulted up onto his horse’s back like a gymnast. _Show-off,_ I labeled with amusement. “Yeah, he did,” I said, grinning. Bofur caught me staring, and his grin turned all smug. _Cute!_ He saluted before climbing aboard a speckled gray. “He told me once he’d do all he could to lift the spirits of those he cares for. That was an example of it. An _extreme_ example, I’ll admit, but… I love that about him.”

Thranduil’s face went from blank to stony. “You are set upon this?”

How to make him understand? “Gwathadar, there is no one like Bofur. I cannot imagine anyone competing.”

The Elvenking faced my dwarf, his expression unreadable. Bofur sat unruffled by his scrutiny. “You wish me to give him my blessing,” my gwathadar said without inflection.

I cleared my throat, looking off towards woods beyond the elves’ camp. _Green._ Seeing that beautiful energy once more was a relief. “I would never ask you to go against your conscience,” I told him, debating what to say and how to say it. With a sigh, “My father was murdered when I was ten years old. Did I tell you that?” 

“I assumed as much,” he said gently.

An abrupt nod of my head. “It was partially my fault.” Before he could object, “No, it was. I mean, I didn’t lift the weapon, but it was my mistake that set things in motion. _That_ is why Aleks hated me for so long.” A half-shrug. “Why I hated myself for so long.” I faced him again. “We didn’t have anyone to look up to or guide us. Our foster father didn’t want that role. I think a part of me just…atrophied. Though I grew up, that part remained the little girl. I needed someone…” I helplessly searched for words.

His face softened. “When I welcomed you into my household, it was not a limited invitation, my Hwinneth.”

Blinking back tears, I said, “I know. That’s what I’m trying to say. I could finally grow up, grow whole, because I had a family again. A father who cared and brothers who accepted me even though I was new to them.”

“What is it you are trying to say?” Gentleness personified. How I wished some of his detractors could see him now. Why did no one know how great-hearted this elf was? 

_Because he never lets them see this side of him._ Private, the Elvenking, and probably for good reason. _And he is not all gentleness,_ I reminded myself. Still, flawed or not, I loved this elf.

“I want to say thank you,” I answered, swiping at an escaped tear. “And… If it wasn’t for you and the others, I would never have been able to heal enough to respond to any male, no matter his race. I would like your blessing, but I want it in sincerity. I just ask you withhold judgment. You have reason to dislike dwarves. Watch. Listen. That’s all I’m asking.”

He stared down at me from his superior height, face unreadable. “They have stolen much from my people,” he told me. “I am not of a mind to allow them to take anything more.” The steel in his voice told me he was in no ways joking. 

“Gwathadar,” I pleaded, trying to find the words that would help him to see beyond his anger and hatred.

He gave one slow shake of the head. “I will consider what you have said. At the very least, I could say the dwarf is no coward,” he finished sourly.

A watery laugh. “No. Bofur doesn’t know the meaning of the word restraint. Whatever he does, he does fully.” 

A minute later, the men and elves coalesced into a tremendous host. With many on foot and carrying burdens upon their backs, we set out for Erebor.


	45. Dragon Sickness

### Chapter 44

Aleks scanned the mob of men, his eyes searching for a familiar head of dark hair and an impish feminine face, when Bofur nudged his gelding close, interrupting him from his worries over Freija and her family. ”Call your animals, Aleks. Quickly. Send protection to your sister,” Bofur said.

“Protection?” “Bofur?” Both Durins spoke at once as Kíli kneed his own mare – less successfully – to Bofur’s other side. Fíli sat behind his brother, his face pinched with discomfort. 

Anger chased across Bofur’s face, flattening his lips. Before Aleks could comment, the dwarf dragged one palm down his face with a deep inhale. Dropping his hands, Bofur said, “All my words, and the elf didn’t hear a one of them. Look over there, Aleks.” The toymaker bobbed his head towards the departing elven ranks. “Do you not see? He parades her by his side. Do you think the enemy will not notice her presence?” 

Aleks groaned, tempted to try out one of the (he suspected) Khuzdul swear words he’d heard from Bifur. Bofur was right. Sitting so close to the Elvenking, she’d be noticed, all right. What was the elf _thinking?_

“We do not know that the elf is free, Aleks,” Bofur murmured for his ears alone. Even with that effort, some elvish faces turned their way with heavy scowls. Bofur gifted them with his trademark grin and a shrug of the shoulders. 

Aleks hated to hear his own fear echoed back at him. If the Elvenking was compromised, they were in trouble. Well, _more_ trouble. Daph hadn’t had a chance to check out the Elvenking, not that Aleks saw, and Aleks’s own attempts had been less than helpful. The guy’s aura looked like it was missing pieces, pieces Aleks assumed bore a more plant-like energy signature given the dude’s link to Mirkwood. A cynical inner voice wondered if Daphne would see the taint even if she looked. He’d seen first-hand how deep her ties to the elf were. 

Wasting no time, Aleks let a touch of the satyr loose, seeking for aid. He located the fox first. Aleks’s lips curled. He was becoming rather fond of the guy. _Buddy, help me,_ he entreated, flashing the little dude a visual of his sister. _Follow. Watch._

The fox was close, slinking around the edges of the myriad deserted camps dotting the shoreline as the massive convoy of elves and men got going. Lifting his nose into the air, the fox tested it, sifting through scents. When he detected that trace of maple, Aleks urged him onward. _Her._

With an uncertain whuff, the animal acquiesced. 

_I’ll be right behind you,_ he said, sending a wave of reassurance. 

Happier, the fox trotted off, picking up speed as soon as he was beyond the mass of humanity behind the elven army. 

_I’m going to have to name him,_ Aleks thought. Foxes were not hugely gregarious. Most preferred solitude, but some lived in their small family units. Aleks didn’t get the loner vibe from this guy. Instead, he more picked up a note of loss from him. Something must have happened to his family. _I’ll take care of you, little dude,_ he promised. 

As quickly as he could, Aleks recruited more animals to his cause: a handful of ravens who thought this a new, delightful game; a bored lynx whose curiosity was sure to be short-lived; and a duo of chipmunks. 

Aleks smirked at the last as he opened his eyes, returning to the world. The Elvenking might be able to bar the dwarves and Aleks from riding near Daphne, but there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop Aleks from doing what satyrs did best: protecting. 

“Done,” he told Bofur. 

Aleks watched with anticipation. Daph was about to have a surprise. The Elvenking’s course would bring the army through a copse of trees. Aleks might not be able to speak to his twin, but in a minute, at least he’d have ears on the ground.

OoOoOo

The elf watched the diminutive female through slit eyes. Fury and resentment burned within his breast. How dare she survive? She should have died for her laxity, yet there she rode in a place of honor just behind the Elvenking. Sheltered. _Protected._

He nodded at something the Elven Guard to his left said, carefully erasing his thoughts from his face. He mustn’t betray himself. 

_Treason,_ a part of him struggled to warn. These ideas he harbored were treason.

A new, wiser voice crooned, _Not treason but loyalty to protect one’s king from even himself._ More and more, he was coming to trust the jaded voice that had appeared the instant he’d witnessed his brother’s death. _If she had not cowered, Edenor would live,_ the elf thought once more. The dragon should have devoured _her,_ not Thranduil’s brave bodyguard. What was her life when measured against one of the First Born? Her death would be pathetically soon even should she live out the entirety of her wretched years. How dare she risk one whose life would have spanned Ages?

He’d not have his king endangered again. Nor his people. Not for her. Tapping fingers against his sword’s pommel, he watched, hating her more with each tainted breath she took.

OoOoOo

I caught this brown blur from the corner of my eye, then two soft projectiles thumped into me. I almost shot out of my saddle in fright, but the little critters squeaked their displeasure. Tiny claws dug into my dress bodice and hair, respectively.

Claws. Fur. 

I must have made some noise, for Belegon reacted like a flash, a weapon appearing in one hand and his eyes blazing. Well, blazing until he got a load of me with two scolding chipmunks now seated in my lap. A lopsided smile flashed upon his scarred face, and his brows rose into his hairline. 

“Aleks?” I whispered, daring to lift one finger to stroke down a small body. 

Thranduil must have gotten wind that something was up, for he twisted around in his saddle. The chipmunks vanished before he saw them, one up the loose, bell sleeve of my gown and the other around my waist. Cool eyes looked me over, a peculiar light entering them as he noted what had to be an incredulous and nervous look upon my face. I had this hysterical urge to giggle. 

_Chipmunks, Aleks? Too funny!_

Only after Thranduil faced forward once more did I twist about in the saddle, searching for my brother and the dwarves. With how many people there were in this procession, it was a wasted effort. Nibbling on my lower lip, I next did a different kind of visual sweep. Right away, I spotted the two ravens overhead. They instantly brought to mind Saruman and his crebain. 

“Lady Hwinneth?” Belegon’s mount eased closer until his leg brushed against mine. The Royal Guard’s chin tilted upwards as his attention settled upon the birds, too. 

“Could be Aleks,” I told him lowly. “Or Saruman.” 

Gwathadar must have been listening, for his head, too, turned in that direction. 

“The wizard truly falls to shadow?” Belegon asked in an equally low voice. 

“He may already have,” I said, disturbed to think about it. If Saruman had already begun to betray his office, every black bird on the planet was going to give me the willies. The problem was no one knew when his descent into evil began. When did he start using that dratted palentir? 

The chipmunk at my back poked his head beneath my elbow. I supposed he decided the coast was clear, for he crawled into my lap. I dared to touch him tentatively, growing bolder as he tolerated my gentle scratches. 

“Should I call you Alvin?” I murmured. The adorable critter didn’t seem to have an opinion, but Aleks sure did. As intelligence filled the animal’s eyes, his body language screamed, _Really?_

“Alvin?” Belegon asked. 

I threw him a bright grin. “Story from home. A children’s story,” I clarified. I barely restrained myself from humming _Christmas Don’t be Late._ A snigger escaped me. Aleks would probably die laughing if I did. 

“Aleks?” I whispered. 

The chipmunk’s head left Belegon and returned to me. 

“Are the birds yours?”

The chipmunk nodded. 

I melted with relief. Like I needed Saruman added to my plate. “If I end up singing Christmas carols all the way to Erebor thanks to your companion choice for me, I’m putting coal in your stocking next Christmas.” 

Alvin’s eyes widened, and I got the distinct feeling that somewhere behind me, my twin was cracking up. Maybe I would sing a few carols. Force him to listen. It would serve him right. 

Beyond my control, I began to hum _Deck the Halls._

OoOoOo

Aleks shook his head as Daph absently began humming another tune. What it was, he couldn’t pinpoint, but carols had been slipping out all morning in the form of breathy hums. Once or twice, she’d actually begun to sing. The instant she’d realized it, she’d glared at the chipmunk. “Coal, Aleks. That’s all I’m saying. Coal.”

 _You are a nutcase, Daph,_ he thought, grinning to himself. 

Turning to Bofur, Aleks asked, “Are you sure you want to do it this way?” 

The four of them had maintained distance from the elven part of the procession, keeping their mounts slow to preserve a measure of distance between themselves and the rearmost of Thranduil’s warriors…and their keen ears. 

“How certain are you, Aleks, that you can keep tabs on your twin from Erebor?” the toymaker asked. 

Good question. He’d stretched himself back in the Misty Mountains more than once, but handling a multitude of animals was a different matter than reaching across distances. If his bond with Daph was whole, it would be a no-brainer. But through chipmunks? 

_It all hinges on this._ The Elvenking’s move meant eyes would leave the dwarves and turn to the elves, at least where Daph was concerned. _If_ Bofur’s mad plan to feign Daph’s death succeeded – Aleks had steep reservations about him pulling that off – it was better that enemy eyes watch the elves should they harbored any doubts about her demise. It would make her return among the dwarves down the road that much safer. 

But that meant they must leave Daph with Thranduil for now. None of them was wild about that idea, and Aleks wasn’t sure how Daphne would take it, either. 

The plan was constructed out of so many tenuous things. A veritable house of cards, Aleks thought. All pieces had to come together exactly. Caranoran had to find and convince the scatter-brained wizard to help them. Bifur had to get a message to Ered Luin and his father, and Balfur had to not only step in to help, but basically vanish for a time to watch over Daph and help her to remake herself into a proper dwarf lass. The Dark Lord had to remain ignorant about Aleks’s existence, or he had to vanish, too. That would make this whole thing that much harder. 

_Too many ifs._

Not that Aleks had any brighter ideas. Sauron had to believe Daphne and her knowledge gone. That much, they all agreed upon. 

“Won’t the bracelet encourage the enemy to keep eyes upon the dwarves?” he asked at last, seeking out any other weak point in their plan. If the enemy wasn’t just watching the elves, then there was no point in leaving Daph with an elf Aleks didn’t trust. An elf, he might add, that he was unconvinced was free of Sauron. 

“I’ll not be taking the bracelet from her wrist, Aleks,” Bofur stated forcefully.

Fíli frowned over at him. “The bracelet is a precursor to full courtship. If the dwarf asks for its return or the maid removes it, it is a signal to all that one or both have decided they don’t suit. It is not honorable to remove it for any other reason.”

“Guys,” Aleks said in exasperation. “This isn’t your normal situation. That bracelet says a dwarf is interested. If Sauron finds out about it, she’ll never be able to return to Erebor.”

Fíli shot him a hard look. “It is a matter of honor, Aleks.” He coupled the firm words with a shake of the head. “Without it, any man or dwarf may approach her with the expectation that she is free. Knowingly removing it when that is not puts that would-be suitor in a dishonorable position. It is deceit.” A more solid shake of the head. “That bracelet stays. I know you do not understand, but I ask you to respect my decision.”

So, what, it was like removing a wedding ring? They weren’t even married. Aleks didn’t get it, but he recognized a losing argument when it nipped him on the nose. 

“Fine,” he conceded. “And to answer your earlier question, Bofur, I’m not sure. I _think_ I’ll be able to keep in contact with the chipmunks, but the only certainty I can give you is that the ravens will keep tabs on her and rush back to me if they see her in trouble.” _If they recognize it,_ he tacked on silently. 

“The ravens of Erebor will assist as well, I’m certain,” Kíli piped up. “Uncle told us of them.”

“Those two likely are from Erebor, Brother,” Fíli said with a jerk of the chin towards where the black birds circled above the elves. 

Kíli nodded, conceding the point.

Aleks looked to Bofur. In the end, it was his plan. “What do you think, B?”

The dwarf in question snorted. “A bee, am I now?” His lopsided smile faded as his gaze shifted off to the side. Finally, he nodded his head. “Nothing else for it if we wish Erebor to be open to her in the future. She must remain with the elves for now.”

OoOoOo

“Well?” Prince Caranoran snapped. He’d tracked the thrice-cursed wizard from Rhosgobel and through the darkest reaches of Mirkwood using every trick he’d learned from his middle brother. Too much time had been lost already. He had no patience for the wizard’s proclivities. War was almost upon them, and fears for his adar and gwathel had haunted him each day of his absence.

Did his adar yet exist? 

The wizard paid his frustration no mind. Instead, Radagast the Brown fed little choice bits of fruit to a hedgehog while his ferret chattered away in his ear. “Yes, I know, Toby. Wilbur here is quite right. This is no place for a hedgehog.”

“You must be joking,” Caranoran said at last, all diplomacy deserting him. 

Radagast and the ferret turned to look at him in unison. The ferret’s eyes connected. Radagast’s slid just beyond him. The ferret – Toby, he presumed – chirruped and Radagast grunted, brow furrowing. “Yes, Toby, I believe the dwarf is correct as well.” 

“Bofur,” Caranoran interjected, more to see if the wizard would betray any recognition of the name than any concern that the dwarf be remembered. 

Radagast ignored the correction and hummed under his breath. “Yes, I believe it is time.” The wizard bobbed his head to himself before scurrying to his sled with no warning. 

If Caranoran had hoped for a reassuring confidence or proof of an intellect lurking in the gaunt man, the wizard’s distracted air dashed them. Anger rekindled. What had the Valar been thinking to send them this Istari? “What about my adar?” he demanded.

The wizard’s eyes turned shrewd, meeting his for the first time. “The Elvenking is dearly loved. Was he not sent the dryad?”

Caranoran reeled. _“What?”_ Then harder, “What do you know? And how?”

Radagast blinked at him. “I asked, of course.” The wizard flapped his hands at him. “He has the aid he requires. Come now. We have much to do and not much time to see it done.”

Caranoran was left racing for his steed as the wizard and his rabbit-led cart rushed from view.

OoOoOo

“You should have spoken of this before, Aleks,” Fíli said, drawing Aleks’s wandering attention back to his friend. One of Fíli’s hands was fisted white where it rested upon his knee and the thunderous look upon his face shouted his displeasure.

 _Better late than never?_ Aleks winced at the thought. _Weak, Hunt. Very weak._

The fact was there had just not been time or opportunity before now, but he doubted Fíli would accept that excuse. Aleks had just finished filling Thorin’s heir in on his fate as recounted by Tolkien, so Fíli’s reaction wasn’t shocking. 

Aleks nodded shortly, accepting the censure. Fíli was right. If Aleks was in the dwarf’s shoes, he’d want to know, too. “We’ve been tossing around ideas--”

“We?” Fíli asked in clipped tones. The heir’s attention lingered where his brother now walked beside Captain Tauriel. Kíli had been quick to dismount and scurry to the elfess’s side as soon as he’d noted the opportunity. 

Had the younger Durin figured out yet that Tauriel was married? No, Aleks thought with a smothered grin, likely not. Aleks had overheard her referencing a spouse earlier. She’d explained her uncharacteristic fondness for the younger Durin by telling an inquisitive comrade how much Kíli reminded her of a mischievous grandson she favored. Aleks supposed he should clue Kíli in, but so far, the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. 

And, well, it was too funny. First Kíli set his eye upon the elf dude in Rivendell by mistake, then Daph (only to be beaten to the punch by the toymaker), and now this. Kíli was young, and Aleks didn’t think him serious about any of the three, just excited about females in general. But yeah, funny.

“We,” Aleks confirmed, pausing to take a sip from his canteen. “Keep in mind that back when we left Rivendell, Daph thought she was in Faerie.”

Fíli’s chin lowered, remembered anger displayed upon his face. “You needn’t remind me.”

No, Aleks supposed not. Since his heart-to-heart with Daph, Fíli had been a bit more protective of her. Clearing his throat, Aleks continued, “I didn’t know, Fíli. Not about your future or any of it until Daph took off from the Elvenking’s Halls on her own. She only told me about it when I followed.”

Fíli’s hands looked white where they rested upon his thighs. “Uncle has no idea,” he said, facing forward.

“None,” Aleks agreed.

Pale eyes slid sideways until they met his. “Your plan?”

Aleks exhaled gustily. “Gloin, Bombur and Bifur all know the danger. They _will_ be watching over him.” Fíli’s frown deepened. Aleks hurried on. “I’m going to find some place to hunker down. I’ll be covering you three with my Ruger.” He tapped the rifle’s barrel with two fingers where it hung on his back. 

Fíli didn’t look impressed. “Forgive me, Aleks, but that weapon did not do much damage to the trolls.”

Well, no. “They’re thicker skinned.” Or so Gloin had pointed out.

The elder Durin allowed the point with a nod. “This plan leaves much to be desired.”

“I know, Fíli. Trust me. I know.” All of their plans were turning out like this. Too many variables, too much uncertainty. Like trying to construct a big rig with toothpicks and chewing gum.

They rode in silence for a stretch, Fíli’s gaze turning time and again to his brother. “If it comes to a choice,” he said at long last, “you protect Kíli. This is not open to debate. You protect my brother. Understood?” Hard, uncompromising hazel eyes flashed at him. 

Aleks swallowed. _Don’t ask this of me, man._ With a mountain of reluctance, he nodded his assent. Fíli would protect his younger brother, spending both his and Thorin’s lives if need be. 

He understood, really. He just didn’t agree. Aleks didn’t intend to lose any of them.

OoOoOo

Smaug lived.

Thorin marched through the halls of Erebor, one arm extended with fingertips brushing long-remembered walls of stone, their shapes and grooves familiar and dear to him. 

The Arkenstone had yet to be found, and the delay consumed him with impatient fury. Where could it have gone? It was his birthright, the symbol of his kingship. He could not rest until it was restored to him, safely back where it belonged. 

“He’ll be returning, and that is a fact,” Balin said from his side. “That Bifur managed to clip the beast with the trebuchet was more luck than skill, really. We cannot hope such fortune will hold forever.”

He knew. Did Balin think he didn’t realize that? Annoyance welled up. Always, they questioned him. Had his dwarves forgotten who was king? 

“Gloin and Bombur insist war is coming,” Balin continued, seemingly undeterred by his king’s angry silences. “They--”

Thorin whirled upon him. “Did you think me likely to forget after Aleks’s note of warning?” he snapped. “We will be ready. Dain will not fail to come. Erebor’s wealth will not leave dwarf hands.”

He stalked around a corner and onto the wide terrace above Erebor’s massive front doors, his steps slowing upon spying wave after wave of armored troops cresting the slight hill mere miles away. Across the flat plains between them, they were clearly visible. 

Thorin’s brows lowered as his jaw clenched. “Elves,” he muttered. “So. Thranduil continues in his quest for our riches.”

Balin tugged at his beard, his demeanor cautious. 

_As it should be,_ Thorin thought. 

“Men ride with him. Perhaps--”

“Betrayal,” Thorin hissed.

Balin coughed into one fist. “We did promise the men of Lake-town recompense--”

“Not when they ride with elves,” Thorin snapped. “Bar the gates.”

“The gates are dam--”

_“I know the gates are damaged._ Bar them!”

OoOoOo

“I’ll be making this short,” Hwinneth’s would-be suitor informed Legolas the instant the prince reached him. “My duty lies with Thorin, and that is where I ride.”

Legolas stared down at the dwarf. He’d been summoned to this dwarf’s side by the dwarf heir. Summoned. As if the dwarf had any right.

“Go on,” Legolas said with clipped tones. 

The smile the dwarf bestowed upon him was in no ways pleasant. “Keep her safe.”

“She is my gwathel. Of course I will--”

The dwarf raised a hand. “I’ve not the time for your elvish fussiness. I care not if you feel the prick of insult at my words so long as you _keep her safe._ We both know full well that your sire may not be as free from that one as we hope. I’m entrusting her to _you,_ Prince. If she comes to harm, it will be you who will be answering my questions.”

Legolas almost sputtered as the cheeky dwarf had the nerve to issue such brazen words and then simply turn and march away, joining his companions. Without a backward look, the dwarves and Hwinneth’s deceitful twin galloped towards Erebor. 

_This, Hwinneth?_ This was her choice? Legolas’s lips flattened. Spinning upon one heel, he sprinted back to his Adar, dismissing the dwarf from his mind.

OoOoOo

They left without me.

Standing beside Belegon beneath the shade of a pavilion, my toes flexing in the grass underfoot, I watched the three horses racing from camp with Bofur, Aleks, Fíli and Kíli upon their backs. My hand drifted to where both chipmunks snoozed as lumps within a sling I'd constructed, safe against my belly. 

Their presence comforted me, but my hand next traversed to my wrist to stroke along the smooth, rounded edges of my bracelet. 

_Aleks?_

My teeth nibbled on my lower lip. _Trust them._ I didn’t like being left behind at all, but in the end, it was probably better that I stay. Here, I could heal. In Erebor, I’d be robbed of contact with the floral biome and the sun. 

_No more pity parties._ War would be upon us too soon. I’d do whatever I could to help prepare. With Belegon for company, I busied myself with whipping up herbal concoctions under the watchful eye of Miwon, the master healer in charge of the entire team. 

And tried not to focus on how much I missed Bofur’s company.

OoOoOo

As the Elvenking and the men of Lake-town set up camp on the opposite side of the wide-open fields splayed before Erebor and Dale, Aleks galloped beside Kíli and Bofur, Fíli riding pillion behind his brother. The small fox kept pace with them, a ginger splash of color to his left.

 _Daphne should be with us,_ he fretted not for the first time. He understood Bofur’s logic, and so far, the chipmunks were yet accessible to him. Remaining with the elves did offer one type of safety and a benefit. With them, she could remain barefoot without fear of contact with a metallic surface, something that would allow her to keep recuperating. 

And, she could avoid Thorin’s dragon sickness. 

_As if Thorin would turn on someone under his protection._ Aleks had heard the stories about Thror, but Thorin was stronger. Wiser. 

Erebor’s gates loomed higher and higher as they thundered down the last stretch of road. Aleks whistled – they were the stuff of legend. _Or,_ he corrected himself, _they used to be._ Even as bent and misshapen as they now stood, they were impressive. Ponderously massive with a definite Ironforge feel from _World of Warcraft,_ they had dwarves etched into the surface of each thick, iron door with markings of some sort framing them. The irregular bulges, no doubt Smaug’s handiwork, could not hide just how intricately detailed they were. More astounding, they were sealed with only hobbit-sized gaps in the seams here and there. 

“Fíli,” he breathed as they brought their steeds to a halt some ten yards from the doors. “This… This is amazing.”

Thorin’s heir gave him a pinched smile. “Welcome to the halls of our forefathers, Aleks. Welcome to Erebor, your home.”

_Home._ Chills pebbled Aleks’s arms. Erebor… Words failed to capture the majesty spread before him. Like the ancient city of Petra, Erebor was a sight to behold, only so much bigger than Petra that it boggled the mind. Carved right into the Lonely Mountain, Erebor had to be one of the wonders of Middle Earth. Maybe _the_ wonder.

Bombur hailed them from a big rampart high above. Fíli shouted back. Bare minutes passed before the giant gates cracked open with a dull rumble of gears. 

“How could they fix the gates so fast?” Aleks asked Bofur in an aside. “I thought Smaug destroyed them.”

Bofur patted his shoulder with one hand, a smile playing about his lips and eagerness upon his face. “Smaug bent the doors, forcing them open. You can see the signs of it well enough. But ‘twas the rubble that blocked this entrance, not the gates themselves. As to fixing them, doubtless Gloin and the other Bs,” he said with an amused waggle of his brows, “saw to their restoration. Never underestimate a dwarf with a mission.” Then his jocularity fading, “Prepare yourself. Dragon sickness is not a pretty sight.”

“Thorin would never hurt his people,” Aleks said with some scorn, his temper igniting. This was the second time Bofur had insinuated that Thorin was dangerous, and Aleks was done with letting it slide. 

Bofur dismounted and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he stared up at Aleks. Ahead of them, Nori, Dori, Gloin and the other Bs clapped their hands as they emerged from Erebor, grinning ear to ear. The two Durins slid from their mount to greet them. 

“With dragon sickness, it’s best to be wary. Thorin in his right might is as noble a dwarf as you’ll ever meet. Short-tempered, aye, but as solid as they come. But the Sickness, Aleks, until you’ve seen it, you cannot understand.”

“He wouldn’t let Daphne come to harm,” Aleks more accused than said, returning to a prior point. Thorin would not hurt a woman. Of that, he had no doubts. 

“What I said is true, Aleks. She must have a home where she can live free of suspicious eyes. Do you really believe the enemy has no spies watching us right now? That he is so lax as to not scout out the battlefield before placing his troops?”

Aleks couldn’t help but look around furtively, his sense of joy at finally arriving to the place he intended to call home abating as a sick sense of _idiot_ came over him. He should have realized. More, he should have begun scouting, too. Aleks began to scan for animals when Bofur’s next comment derailed him.

“And, aye, I wished the lass spared this.” At Aleks’s flinty-eyed look, Bofur continued, “She had her Elvenking turn upon her while out of his mind. She does not need to see Thorin in the same state, especially since I intend us to make our home here under Thorin’s reign.”

Aleks scowled and dismounted. He stroked the horse’s soft muzzle to lead the animal forward, and protested, “He wouldn’t--” 

“Never underestimate what a dwarf struck with the Sickness might do.” A pause. “Aleks,” Bofur said, his tone hesitant. “You do realize Thorin is but a dwarf, aye? He is not perfect.”

“I know that,” Aleks snapped, his anger climbing. 

Bofur scratched one whiskered cheek. “There is a difference between knowing and _knowing._ When we met, you were hurtin’ for guidance, and you found it in Thorin.”

Enough was enough. Aleks halted as if he’d slammed into a wall and spun around, glaring. “What’s wrong with that?” he growled.

OoOoOo

_Aye, now you stepped in it, Bofur you fool._

Yet, it had to be done. The lad wore blinders where their king was concerned, and that was a fact. Their satyr fair worshiped the ground Thorin walked upon. He’d not see Aleks disillusioned, not for something Thorin could not control. Aleks had to be prepared for what he might find when they crossed Erebor’s gates.

_Mahal._ Well did Bofur remember Thror’s decline, and it grieved him to imagine the same sad fate befalling Thorin. Thror had always had that flaw to his character, the penchant for seeking his own benefit first. Stories abounded about some of that king’s less than noble deeds early in his reign. 

Thorin had seen his grandfather’s decline and determined to be of a different mold altogether. Bofur had met many a noble dwarf in his travels, including Dain of the Iron Hills, and while there were some fine dwarves among them, Thorin stood out like mithril among chunks of iron.

_He’ll come through,_ Bofur assured himself. If the Company had to hogtie the king and drag him away from the corrupting wealth of Erebor, they’d see it done. Like as not, they’d be exiled for daring such a thing, but speaking for himself, Bofur’s loyalty demanded he pay whatever price required to serve his king.

Imagining Thorin’s face should they attempt such a feat made him chortle to himself. Mayhap exile would be worth it to see Thorin’s response should his own dwarves abduct him. 

Bofur scratched at one brow, considering their satyr. _Soon to be brother,_ he reminded himself. Aye, brother. The thought satisfied him and not solely for his lass’s sake. He was fond of Aleks. “Nothing wrong, Aleks, but I’m thinking you’ve made him more in your mind than any dwarf could measure up to. You do understand that at some point, Thorin will fail to meet your expectations, aye? He will make mistakes. He is not perfect.”

Aleks’s glare threatened to flay the skin right from him, the satyr’s face as red as a tomato. 

_I’m not thinking he’s hearing me._ Well did he remember and recognize the signs of an Aleks stubbornly refusing to hear what he did not like. Bofur sighed and changed tracks. “We must keep him placated, Aleks. If the Sickness has hit him hard, he could turn upon anyone should the right circumstances arise.”

Aleks balled his fist, his eyes narrowing. 

No, he was not taking this well at all, Bofur surmised. He let the matter drop. No use courting a black eye on the eve of war.

OoOoOo

Aleks bit back the bitter words ready to burst from him. How could Bofur say such things? This was _Thorin._ Unlike the Elvenking, Thorin didn’t have evil personified rampaging unchecked through his head.

Yet as time stretched on and Thorin failed to make an appearance, never emerging to welcome his beloved nephews, doubt began to take root.

OoOoOo

“I have not the time,” Thranduil told me with little patience as he mounted his elk. He and his elves were in full war regalia – the Elven Guard in their glittering gold armor while the Royal Guards wore muted armor beneath their dark green hauberks etched with golden leaves. Like his ellyn, the Elvenking wore full armor upon chest, arms, and legs. He’d never looked more unapproachable or severe.

“But what if _he_ strikes?” I tried, standing by his mount’s withers, craning my neck back to keep him in sight. I knew I was pushing, but I couldn’t help myself. He was my gwathadar, and the thought of him once more subject to Sauron's taint made me positively ill. Did Thranduil not see the danger?

“If who strikes?”

Palm to the elk’s neck, I turned around.

“Ah, Mithrandir,” the Elvenking greeted. “You have arrived at last.”

Uh-oh. Gandalf. What he knew, Saruman would know. Where was Radagast when I needed him? Bofur had said he’d been sent for, but so far, the Brown Wizard had been characteristically absent. 

Gandalf’s eyes seemed to lock upon me, speculation and questions percolating in their depths. “Yes, indeed, Your Majesty.” Then to me, “Mistress Hunt. I confess to some surprise upon finding you here.” 

In other words, _What are **you** doing here?_ Had Glorfindel not shared with him our trip across Middle Earth? The White Council – including Glorfindel – had met at Dol Guldur to oust the necromancer, so I knew the two had rubbed shoulders recently. 

Wry thought: _Likely you weren’t the topic of importance, oh narcissistic one._

That Gandalf was displeased to find me here was plainly written upon his face. He now had first hand knowledge of just how powerful the evil that had been lurking in Dol Guldur was. It stood to reason that he’d be more suspicious of me and my arrival than ever before. I thanked my lucky stars he didn’t yet know who the necromancer was, regardless of the stupid movie flub. If he knew I’d been near the Dark Lord, I had the distinct impression I might find myself locked away in Orthanc. Forever. 

“Should she not be with her family?” the Elvenking asked in a mildly disdainful tone. A warning there, one Gandalf looked taken aback to receive. 

“Her family? Perhaps the Elvenking is unaware of her origins,” Gandalf broached. 

Thranduil’s head tilted to the side as he looked upon the wizard. “We have had no quarrel in our long years, Mithrandir. Do not create one now.” As if the matter were closed, he said, “You bring word of war, do you not?”

Gandalf’s gray brows winged upwards. “Indeed. Orcs--”

“Let by Azog, though I hear Bolg has been dealt with.”

I plastered an innocent expression on my face as the wizard’s attention homed in upon me like a missile. 

“It was speculated before that Mistress Hunt possesses knowledge she should not have,” Gandalf ventured, eyeing me from beneath the brim of his pointed hat. Gandalf, I was finding, really did not like unknowns in his equations. It made my life more complicated, but I couldn’t fault him for it. The stakes were as high as they came. In his shoes, I’d be unhappy about Aleks and me, too.

Thranduil was in full Elvenking mode, his manner aloof and arrogant. “The child? You assume I need an infant’s aid to know what occurs within and around the bounds of my domain?” Bland-faced, dismissive. “Lady Hwinneth accompanies us for one reason alone, wizard: she is a novice healer whose talents I wish to encourage. That said,” he leveled that gaze my way. “It is time for her to return to the healers’ tents.”

Hint, hint. 

So much for examining him for Sauron-bits. Unless he was hooked into a tree or in contact with a bush or something, I couldn’t tell if he was in the clear. Cajole as I had the entire trip to Erebor, the Elvenking had resisted my pleas. (The Elvenking, I decided, was as stubborn and stiff-necked as a mountain-full of dwarves. Not that I’d share that conclusion with him.) 

“Yes, sire,” I said, executing a deep curtsy. With another bob of the head for Gandalf, I collected my skirts in two hands and hastened from the scene. 

My mama didn’t birth any fools.

OoOoOo

Thranduil greeted Bard with cool respect as the future Lord of Dale joined him in the mounted procession towards Erebor. After introductions were completed, Gandalf directed to the man, “What happened here, Master Bard? What tragedy has befallen your people?”

“Dwarves happened,” Bard responded with understandable anger. “First, we were attacked by orcs--”

“Orcs?” Gandalf asked sharply, hands easy about the reins of his dun horse. “Why would orcs attack Lake-town?”

Thranduil allowed the man to answer, distancing himself from the conversation. In no way would he ever reveal to Mithrandir what Hwinneth knew. Too many already had access to the information, and he worried what course Gandalf might set should he truly see her as dangerous. With no personal knowledge about the future other than the bare minimum his son, Gellamon, had revealed – that of Oakenshield’s condition and the upcoming battle – Thranduil could do no more than shield Hwinneth and act upon the little he knew. 

How, though, to protect her from Sauron? There was no way to remove the damning knowledge from the Dark Lord’s memory. He knew she held information about the One Ring, the single most vital object to his future plans. Thranduil could see no way to extricate her from this mess. 

Hiding her within his kingdom would not work, though he wished otherwise. Too many of his elves knew of her. He trusted his family and guards, but it would be foolish indeed to assume the Dark Lord unable to sway one elf among the thousands who called Mirkwood home to betray news of a female many eyed with skepticism. She was not their kind, and too many of his people had followed his lead, becoming ever more reclusive and suspicious of outsiders. 

What then? _Penneth, I do not like the future I see before you._

OoOoOo

The first exchange between the men, the elves and the dragon-sick King Under the Mountain unfolded predictably enough. Bard asked for the share of the wealth Thorin had promised, and Thorin flat-out refused, pointing an accusatory finger at the force mustered before his gates and the larger army camped across the plains of Erebor. Gandalf tried to reason with him, but even the wizard’s words failed to reach him.

Thranduil returned that evening unsurprised, but the men of Lake-town? They were _mad._ Word of the events spread through their ranks like wildfire. The elves took the news calmly enough, probably following Thranduil and Legolas’s examples, but the men seethed like a burbling cauldron about to explode. 

I couldn’t blame them. They’d lost everything, literally _everything,_ and Thorin now broke his word, turning his back on these allies just when they needed him most – an irony since it was exactly what Thorin had accused Thranduil of doing decades before.

I heard a few snatches of the conversation between Thranduil and Bard after their return in which the Elvenking reminded the Lord of Dale about dragon sickness. Bard was less than impressed. Thror’s madness had resulted in Smaug and the destruction of Dale. In his shoes, I really wouldn’t want to see what Thorin’s sickness would lead to, either. That excuse was likely growing old. 

In all, I was glad to have missed the scene. I wondered how Aleks was handling the change in Thorin and worried about him. A couple times, I asked the chipmunks, “Are you okay?” and got a lot of strange looks from the elves nearby, but Alvin and the newly-dubbed Alice showed no hint of Aleks-intelligence. Maybe Aleks was busy. Regardless, it left me feeling more cut off than before. 

Bofur, on the other hand, I was confident could take care of himself. He reminded me of a cat. Shake him from his perch, and he’d land on his feet. Knowing Bofur, he’d probably grin and joke about the whole thing, too. 

I missed him. It had only been one day, and I detested his absence with a growing virulence. 

I spent the day assisting Thranduil’s team of healers prepare for war. Aleks’s theory in mind, I stayed barefoot the entire time, maximizing my contact with the lush green grass underfoot. If the situation were not so serious – and a certain toymaker not so _absent_ – I’d have been humming or singing all day, probably Christmas carols. It felt that good. 

I never got the chance to corner Thranduil about a check-up. The elf had gone behind my back and ordered me confined to the main healers’ tent, and he was so busy, I only caught glimpses of him as he passed by with his trademark Purposeful King gait. To be fair, he probably didn’t view the situation as going behind my back. He had good reasons: hiding me from orc eyes _and_ Gandalf’s too-persistent curiosity. Still, as the night deepened, I grumbled at the limitation, arranging bed mats with more force than necessary. 

“This is a bad move,” I told Belegon under my breath. Why I bothered to lower my voice, I don’t know. It wasn’t like every elf in the area couldn’t hear me. 

The Royal Guard gave me a wryly sympathetic smile. “It is not me you need to convince.”

Well, no. “Venting,” I told him, collecting another rolled up mat from him and unfurling it onto the grass with a snap of the wrist. I straightened it out with a few nudges of a bare foot and then moved on to the next one piled in his arms. We were supposed to be relocating into Erebor (in theory) as soon as Thorin could be talked to his senses, but just in case, we were setting up this tent and two others for triage. Personally, I thought they’d have a better chance of getting Sauron to repent of his wicked ways than Thorin to let any elf or man inside that mountain right now.

“Venting?” The unscarred side of Belegon’s face quirked with a grin. 

I ran both hands through my hair, fisting the ends, then releasing it with a huge exhale. _Can’t do anything about Thranduil right now. Let it go._ If there was one thing I was learning from Bofur, it was not to hold on to angst so tightly. I let myself respond to Belegon’s good humor. “Blowing off steam?” I offered with a grin. 

Belegon snorted. “Giving the horse his head,” he corrected.

Was this a contest? “Spewing emotions,” I said.

He barked in laughter before countering, “Throwing water onto the fire.”

I straightened and plunked fists on my hips, scowling at him. “That doesn’t count.”

“It counts, lady.”

“No, it doesn’t. Throwing water onto a fire is not the same as sharing the love. It does not convey leakage.”

He guffawed and we were off, debating and bantering back and forth. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t as funny as it felt at the time, but with the threat of war looming overhead, I don’t think I was the only one grabbing hold of any snippet of comfort I could find.

OoOoOo

Aleks couldn’t believe it. As he sifted through gold coins in the Treasury, he kept looking at Thorin, shocked at the change in his king.

 _Bofur tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen, would you?_

Thorin’s welcome had been nonexistent. The king had been filthy, covered in both sweat and grime from laboring within Erebor’s dusty halls. When they’d found him, Thorin had been knee-deep in Erebor’s wealth - a wealth that, granted, was staggering in its scope. He’d grunted dispassionately at the returned members of his Company and said, “Good, you have returned. Get to work. The Arkenstone must be found.”

Kíli’s jaw had flopped open, and Fíli’s happiness had sprung a major leak. “Will you not welcome your lost nephew?” Fíli had asked in a soft, careful tone. 

Thorin had speared Kíli with a hard look. “In the future, I expect you to do better. You cost us time we could not afford.”

At Kíli’s flinch, Fíli had gone cold. Oh, he’d obeyed and stomped into the Treasury with the rest of them, but he had not been happy, his gaze often finding and spearing an oblivious Thorin. 

Aleks had joined in the search, finding and holding Bofur’s sympathetic glance. Yes, he’d been warned, and he would now heed the rest of the dwarf’s counsel. Aleks had dipped his head the tiniest bit in acknowledgment, and Bofur had returned to his own patch of gold, speaking in low tones to his brother and cousin.

They had all remained in that Treasury, working, until Bard and Thranduil had arrived on their doorstep. Thorin had refused to render aid to the men of Lake-town, and worse, he’d refused to compensate them as he’d promised. 

Later that night, Aleks’s temper snapped and he hurled a golden urn at the far wall, the satyr begging to be let out. There was a war coming. If he’d known he’d be wasting time slogging through coins in search of a trinket, he’d have stayed with Daph, Elvenking or no. 

_It’s the Sickness,_ an inner voice reminded him. _It’s not his fault._

Didn’t matter. A part of him felt betrayed. They needed Thorin back, but Aleks had no idea how to reach him. Really, if Fíli and Kíli couldn’t thaw the cold greed that had claimed him, how could Aleks hope to? 

Gloin shuffled his way and clapped him on the back. “Patience, laddie.”

“We don’t have time for patience,” Aleks hissed.

Gloin grunted and bent down, joining Aleks in digging through his current patch of coins. Bilbo glanced over at them and grimaced with sympathy. 

_You’re not the only one frustrated, Hunt,_ he reminded himself. 

“We’ve been sneaking out, one at a time,” Gloin told him lowly. “Never fear. Erebor’s defenses are being prepared.”

“But Smaug _lives,_ Gloin,” Aleks said. “How are we supposed to deal with him on top of everything else?”

“Ye say the windlance was saved?” the redhead queried. 

Aleks nodded. “Yeah, Bofur and I got it. The thing was insanely heavy.”

“Aye, it would be,” Gloin said with a short grin. “So long as the man, Bard, has it…?”

Again, he nodded. “Bard had it transported in a cart. His son kept the Black Arrow safe, so we have that, too. Thranduil’s smiths examined it, but they don’t have any forges handy to work with. Don’t expect them to whip up another dozen or so anytime soon.”

“Mayhap we can work on something here,” Gloin said. “I’ll pass the word to Dwalin.”

OoOoOo

That night, Bilbo showed up.

I’d been watching the entrance to the Elvenking’s tent from the confines of the one I shared with a handful of healers and Belegon. We’d kept vigil, the Royal Guard and I. When the flap to Thranduil’s tent opened by itself, we knew who it was. 

“So.” Belegon said nothing further. We both knew what it meant. Thorin had refused to honor his word to the men of Lake-town, and his dwarves couldn’t talk him down. Bilbo now delivered the Arkenstone as leverage. Thorin had to be nuttier than a candy bar to be debating about gold when he’d be warned about the approaching war, but there it was. I hoped the Arkenstone would force him to the table, but the realistic side of me said it would backfire like it had in the book. 

When the tent flap lifted itself the second time, I couldn’t help but sniffle. Bilbo really did love the dwarves, and he’d come to respect Thorin so much. This must be tearing him apart. I must have done something to betray my presence, because footsteps drew near though the source of them remained invisible.

“I am so sorry, Bilbo,” I said, hands tight about a swathe of tent fabric. I swallowed. “Tell Aleks not to lose hope. And don’t you do so, either.”

An invisible hand touched mine, and I captured it, squeezing. “Remember what I told you,” I said. “You cannot risk yourself. And tell Bofur he’d better protect you or I’ll have his beard.”

A short laugh, stressed and sad. “Gloin has Dwalin attempting to forge more Black Arrows.”

I exhaled and nodded. “I’ll inform Bard.”

Belegon cleared his throat. 

_“Belegon_ will inform Bard,” I corrected sourly. 

“Travel safely, Master Baggins,” the Royal Guard said with utmost respect. “You are a being of rare courage and virtue.”

No response except the invisible hand slipping from mine. 

“You’re doing the right thing,” I said, hoping he was yet near enough to hear me.


	46. The Perfect Evil Cocktail

### Chapter 45

“What’s happening now?”

If Legolas tired of my endless questions, he gave no indication. Hidden behind him and covered by his cloak, my presence was…somewhat…a secret. Belegon had donned the golden uniform of the Elven Guard, blending in with the thousands of troops lined up behind their king. His brothers-in-arms in green formed a half-moon at the king’s back. 

The three of us hoped my presence would not be necessary, but since Gwathadar had remained so stubborn about letting me check him over, Legolas had relented and brought me along. Just in case. I kept my fingers crossed, praying to Eru Ilúvitar this would prove an exciting but unneeded excursion on my part. 

I tried to ignore the persistent temptation to lift Legolas’s cloak so that I could maybe catch a glimpse of Bofur. I felt like a chocoholic driven to the breaking point, itching for just one square. Only my addiction? A toymaker. I wondered, with a surge of amusement, what Bofur would have to say about that. He’d probably get all smug again, I chuckled to myself. 

“Hush,” the prince murmured with a breathy laugh while his horse shifted beneath us. “Or you will give your presence away.”

Did he have any idea how frustrating it was to not be able to see what was going on? 

He relented after a space. “Nothing is happening. We have arrived but Oakenshield has yet to make an appearance. What I do not understand is why the dwarf argues over gold when orcs are approaching. Should the orcs prevail, he will lose not just a fraction of his wealth but its entirety as well as his life.”

I didn’t get it, either. Granted, while I understood that the people of Lake-town needed the promised money to rebuild, perhaps broaching the topic first had been a bad idea. 

_No._ On second thought, if they’d waited, Thorin would have been fortified in his safe mountain and refused to part with it after the war, bringing about a possible second war, this time between elves, men and dwarves in truth. If we all survived the coming invasion, that is.

“Has there been any sign of them?” I asked in a small voice.

“The orcs?”

I bobbed my head against his back.

“No,” he said. “Traces here and there, but we have not located them. It is as if some power shields their presence, lends them aid.”

Yeah. No great prize figuring out who that might be.

OoOoOo

Aleks followed his king, and now, Thorin looked every inch the King Under the Mountain: crowned, groomed and regal. The Company marched in his wake down passageways to the First Hall, then up the stairs to the humongous balcony perched high above Erebor’s imposing doors.

Sunlight greeted them as they arrayed themselves along the length of the balcony. Aleks enjoyed the feel of the sun’s warmth upon his skin for a peaceful, stolen moment before looking down. Then, he whistled lowly. The elves had been impressive before, but now, they gleamed. Rows upon rows of polished armor shone gold in the sun, the sight almost blinding. 

“That’s not something you see everyday,” he whispered. 

Thorin shot him a brief, hard look. “Afraid, Master Aleks?”

Aleks startled. Wait. He was actually being _addressed?_ By this point, Aleks was so mad that he could barely look at his king. Ill or not, there was no excuse for Thorin’s treatment of his nephews. _Or me,_ a part of him tacked on. “No,” he said shortly. 

The dwarves not briefed nodded in satisfaction. The dwarves and Bilbo who knew the score gave him looks of pure understanding and sympathy. They were all frustrated and on edge. They knew how much was at stake. 

Hate elves or not, they would need them as allies very soon. Unless, Aleks grumbled to himself, his and Daphne’s presences had thrown this askew, too. There were times Aleks wondered if perhaps Middle Earth wouldn’t have been better off without them, but he selfishly refused to wish himself away. He wouldn’t go back to Earth, not for anything. No how, no way. 

Gazing at the huge army below, Aleks felt hope. How could orcs defeat such a force?

With no warning, Thorin notched an arrow and let it fly. It sliced into the ground before the hooves of the elk upon which the Elvenking rode. “I will put the next one between your eyes,” Thorin said, cocking another arrow. 

Aleks groaned, though a number of the dwarves laughed and cheered. Meeting Gloin’s eyes, he arched a brow. Really? With war coming? 

“Always a good day to show up an elf, laddie,” was the only explanation he received. “Best to present a strong front and command respect.”

Aleks rolled his eyes. 

As if on cue, the entire force of the Elvenking’s army notched their own bows and took careful aim. Aleks’s eyes flared. He wasn’t the only one to dive for cover, peeking out between two crumbled pieces of what had been stone railing. 

The Elvenking lifted two fingers and in unison, the elves returned to attention, lowering their bows. It was beyond impressive and totally scary. _Would_ Thranduil attack? 

_He knows war approaches,_ Aleks assured himself. 

_Yeah,_ another part of him chimed up, _but what if Sauron influences him again?_

“We have come to tell you,” Thranduil’s regal voice called from below, “that payment for your debt has been offered and accepted. We ask you join us in preparing for the battle ahead.”

Aleks’s eyes flashed to Bilbo, abashed. He’d totally spaced this little tidbit, but if Bilbo had successfully snuck out the night before, Bombur hadn’t. 

“What payment?” Thorin demanded with ridicule. “I gave you nothing. You have nothing. This is some trick.”

Aleks knew what was coming next and sidled closer to Bilbo, noting the way Gloin and the Three Bs did likewise. None of the others had any clue, though Fíli was quick to note their movements. The blond dwarf’s eyes widened ever so slightly, his face filling with dismay.

“You didn’t,” Fíli mouthed at them behind Thorin’s back. Nori caught wind that something was up and glanced between them. 

“We have this,” Bard announced, holding the Arkenstone aloft for all to see. It _was_ beautiful.

“They have the Arkenstone,” Kíli whispered in disbelief. Behind him, Fíli shot Aleks a look both frustrated and disbelieving. “Thieves,” Kíli said. “How came you by this? It is the emblem of our House! It belongs to the King.”

“Your king may have it,” Bard responded, tossing the stone into the air and catching it. “With our best wishes. But only after he has honored his word.”

“It is a trick,” Thorin repeated. “The Arkenstone lies within. We have only to find it.”

Aleks mentally girded himself. Thorin was going to hate him. Full stop. Period. _I’m could lose them._ Not the Bs, not Gloin, but possibly the rest of the Company would despise him for not stopping this. 

“It is no trick.” 

At Bilbo’s statement, gray eyes turned from the party below to the hobbit, and filled first with confusion, swiftly followed by shock, hurt, and betrayal. 

“I gave it to them,” Bilbo said.

“You?” Thorin asked. Disbelief and deepening hurt appeared upon Thorin’s face, his dragon sickness for the moment vanquished. 

Aleks planted himself before the hobbit and splayed open palms. 

_“Aleks?”_ The question would forever haunt him, it was so saturated with crushing disappointment. 

Aleks’s throat tightened in response. With it came a speck of hope. If shock had lifted the Sickness, no matter how briefly, perhaps they could reach Thorin. He had to try. 

Aleks reached over and grabbed Fíli, hauling him before him and placing hands upon his shoulders. “Who is this, Thorin?”

“Is this a joke, Aleks?” Thorin said, his grief beginning to turn into a rumbling anger. 

For his own part, Aleks wished fervently to be anywhere else, but he refused to back off and leave Bilbo to deal with this. Not before he voiced all the words he’d bottled up while in the Treasury. “I’ve never felt less like joking. Thorin, who is this?” He shook Fíli slightly for emphasis. 

Fíli’s head craned sideways, his brows meeting high above his nose. 

“You know very well who he is.” Thorin prowled a step closer, his anger visibly escalating another notch. 

“Really? Because it seems to me you have forgotten,” Aleks said in his own growl, fighting to remain in human form as his own bitter disappointment, suppressed for long hours, burbled over. “This is Fíli, Thorin. He’s your son in all but name. You raised him to be the dwarf he is. I’ve seen you. Your love for him is real and deep.”

Another slow, heavy step closer. “Make your point, Satyr.” The King Under the Mountain’s anger turned ominous. Threatening. 

Aleks was too furious to care. Releasing Fíli, he stepped to his side. “Not once, Thorin, _not once_ did you notice he’d been badly injured. Not once did you show an ounce of concern for his pain.” Not satisfied, he grabbed Kíli next. “Who is this, Thorin?”

The king’s anger deflated like a balloon. “You know who it is,” Thorin said, a bit subdued.

“I do,” Aleks said, his own voice softening. “This is Kíli, the one who hasn’t finished growing up. The one who looks to you and Fíli to show him what it is to be a dwarf of honor and strength, a credit to the line of Durin. I know you love him.” Aleks’s voice turned ragged, anger morphing into such a conflagration of emotions that he almost teared up. 

Totally uncool.

“I do,” Thorin said in a quiet voice. 

“You never told him you were relieved he survived. Do you know how I found him, Thorin? I found him _face-first_ in the river.” He let Kíli go and closed the distance between them. Looking down into Thorin’s eyes, he said. “He wasn’t breathing, Thorin. Do you understand? You were a heartbeat away from losing your younger nephew. You would never have heard one of his awful jokes again, or listened as he tried to flirt with anything in skirts.”

_“Oi!”_ Kíli objected. A few dwarves snorted while others nodded somberly. 

“They are what matters, my king,” he said. He blinked back tears. _Not going to cry._ “You never said a word about Daphne’s survival. You never asked me if she was okay, if _I_ was okay. This isn’t you. I’ve watched you. I emulated you, learning how to become a man in the truest sense.” He waved at the walls to their side. “Daphne told me you’d succumb to dragon sickness--”

“Daphne,” Thorin repeated, and Aleks did not like the tone that now filled his voice. Bofur, either, for the toymaker lost the hopeful expression on his face and tensed, his face frozen. 

_Be silent, Bofur,_ Aleks willed. 

Thorin’s glare once more located Bilbo. “Is that why you have stolen from me? Betrayed me? Upon her say-so?”

Bilbo never flinched. Instead, he joined Aleks. “Steal? I did not steal from you. A burglar I may have become, but I should remain an honest one, I would hope.”

“You took the Arkenstone,” Kíli burst out. “It is the sign of our House.”

“And it was destroying your uncle,” Aleks interjected hotly. 

Thorin’s glare transferred back to Aleks. “You. You knew of this.” Condemnation dripped from the words.

Aleks dreaded this moment. _Lie,_ a little voice insisted. But the person he’d become, the one that had wanted to be _that_ kind of good guy, refused to heed it. He would be the man he’d been taught to be by these dwarves. By Thorin. Lifting his chin, he said, “Yes, I knew.”

Thorin’s face twisted, and Bilbo jumped back in. “I tried to give it to you. Time and again.”

“Is that so?” Thorin asked in a dangerous whisper.

“You are changed, Thorin. You are not the honorable dwarf I met in Bag End. You see only your treasures and wealth, to the detriment of all else. Did you hear what Aleks said? Have you not realized? Still, you show no care for the wellbeing of your nephews-”

“The Arkenstone is the symbol of our right to rule,” Thorin thundered. “A symbol that will one day pass to Fíli as heir.”

At Aleks’s scoffing sound, Thorin spun towards him. _“You need no symbol,”_ Aleks bit out. “Every step from Breeland to here, you were the king. You _are_ a king. Back home, there’s a saying: nobility is not a birthright, it is defined by one’s actions. Any fool can sit upon a throne and tell people what to do. From the beginning, you exemplified what it is to be a king.” Softer, rougher, “At least it seemed so to me.”

Feeling the weight of Thorin’s gaze, Aleks took a step to the edge of the balcony and pointed down. “That?” he asked in ridicule. “It is a thing, Thorin. It’s a piece of stone.” 

From Thorin’s set jaw and narrowed eyes, Aleks suspected he was not reaching him. How else could he put it? How could he make the obstinate dwarf see? 

Aleks’s arm dropped to the railing. “That stone is not a god to bestow royalty upon anyone, especially a dwarf who never needed it. Don’t you get it, man? It can’t give you crap - not a throne, not safety.” He picked up a piece of banister rubble. “It’s a _rock,_ just like this.” He tossed it aside. “It cannot keep you warm when you are cold. You cannot eat it and find satisfaction when you are hungry. You cannot plant it and reap a harvest. It cannot love you - it has no love to give. It has no loyalty and it sure can’t hold you when you hurt. It is a _thing._ A bauble, nothing more.” In the barest whisper, “A symbol of your kingship? You need none. You are so much better than this.”

For a split-second, Aleks thought he’d reached him, but Thorin pushed past him to the balcony and looked down, arms splayed and braced upon stone. “Where is she?”

“What?” Aleks asked, not at first understanding. 

“Here to see her handiwork, turning you against me? Spreading lies among my Company? You were right from the start about her.”

“She did nothing of the sort,” Bilbo said with impatience and more than a little anger of his own. “Did you not hear me? _You are changed,_ Thorin.”

Thorin backed away a step, eyes flying between them. 

“Smaug lives. Orcs march upon us. Do you really want to do this now?” Aleks asked. “Will you let Erebor be taken because you are obsessed with a trinket?”

The feverish light in his eyes warned Aleks. Their king didn’t hear them. “Traitors,” Thorin spat. “So many lofty words, yet for all your wisdom, you have missed the most basic concept of all. Loyalty. _Loyalty,_ Aleks,” he said, making a fist between them. “I had thought it a trait you possessed in spades.” His fist dashed to the side in disgust. “I will not stand for it. How I wish I’d remembered that only dwarves are capable of demonstrating that virtue. _Hobbits,”_ the king spat. _“Satyrs._ This lesson I will not forget.” 

Aleks felt his innards clench, feeling each poisonous word like an arrow. 

Turning his back, Thorin delivered the death-knell, “Throw them from the balustrade.”

Silence. Shock, pure and icy. 

Aleks’s breath seized up in his lungs. _Thorin._ He remembered his words to Bofur - they replayed like a dull roar in his ears. Thorin wouldn’t turn on them. 

Yet, he had. 

When no one moved, Thorin whipped back around. “Did you not hear me?” Thorin grabbed Fíli, shoving him at them. “Throw them from the balustrade!”

Most of the dwarves backed away, but Fíli spun on him and stood his ground. “No, Uncle.”

“What say you?” Thorin whispered. 

“I said no.”

A commotion broke out far beneath them on the ground below. Nori, Dori, Ori, Dwalin, Gloin - they all rushed to see what was happening. Fíli stared his uncle down for a long minute before lifting his chin and moving to the railing, hands upon the hilts of his swords. 

That was when Thorin struck as fast as an adder, grabbing Bilbo and dragging him, protesting, to the edge of the balcony. 

“No!” Aleks bellowed. Flashing to satyr, he tackled the king…and Thorin’s hold upon Bilbo released. The hobbit dropped, slipping from the balcony. Aleks saw Bofur dive down and grab Bilbo’s arms from the corner of his eyes.

Thorin drew Orcrist.

OoOoOo

I squawked as Legolas spurred his mount into a full gallop with zero warning. That something more had gone wrong was a no-brainer. He’d been updating me, recounting Aleks’s words – how proud I was of my twin! – and then…this.

“Legolas?” I yelled as his cloak whipped up with the force of his speed, exposing me to the world in bits and pieces. 

“By Eru, _halt,”_ Legolas bellowed, his horse sliding to a stop and kicking up furrows of dirt. “Do not, Adar!”

Inertia jettisoned me from my seat. I slammed down and rolled until I crashed into the feet of one of the Elvenking’s golden-clad warriors. “Ow.”

“You are not in your right mind,” I heard Legolas beseech, followed quickly by Gandalf’s, “Your Majesty, stop this foolishness at once.”

Belegon dismounted his own horse at a run and hoisted me to my feet. “To the king,” he murmured, rushing me towards where the two elves and wizard squared off from their seats upon their mounts. 

Grabbing fistfuls of skirt to get the dratted stuff out of the way, I ran as fast as I could. Thranduil stared down at his son with fury written upon his face. A familiar fury. Sauron. 

A part of me had to give it to him. Hit Thranduil just when he was within striking distance of Thorin, who was himself driven nuts-o from dragon sickness. The perfect, evil cocktail. Just shake and watch the fireworks fly. _He won’t even need to invade._ Between the two of them, Thranduil and Thorin would do his dirty work for him right here, right now. Or, I realized with a flash of dismay, he could be stirring things up in preparation of an early strike. An icy chill spread its cold fingers around my ribs at the realization.

“Hwinneth,” Legolas shouted. Gandalf did a double-take upon seeing me, and a part of me groaned. _He’s going to find out._ It seemed inevitable. 

I skidded to a halt a few paces from them, all but jumping up and down, wringing my hands. “I can’t do anything until he’s in contact with a plant,” I cried.

“What is this?” Gandalf demanded.

We all ignored him. What, like we had the time to catch him up to speed? As if. 

Legolas’s face hardened, and his shoulders drew back. 

“Whatever you are considering, _ion nin,”_ Thranduil said with scathing mockery, “do not think I will hold my hand. You are no match for me. Do not bring your mother grief by challenging me.”

Sidling towards one horse, I tugged upon the hem of Gandalf’s robe. “Can you help him?” I asked in a low voice.

“Help him? Would someone please explain to me what is going on?” He dismounted, one hand to his horse’s neck and his expression looking just a shade shy of going all Ominous Wizard-like. 

“Royal Guards, to me,” Legolas commanded in ringing tones as he, too, dismounted. “Get the Elvenking off of his steed. _Carefully._ I will not tolerate injury to his person.”

Bowing to the inevitable, knowing I had to be earning the title of Blabbermouth of the Universe for this, I rushed, “The necromancer created the plague infesting Mirkwood. The necromancer is Sauron, and when you guys ousted him from Dol Guldur…” I swallowed the rest of my words and Gandalf’s face darkened. 

“Fool of a female!” he snapped. “You knew this would happen, yet you said nothing to me in Rivendell?” 

“I didn’t know _this_ would happen,” I shrilled back. 

Gandalf stalked away in full dudgeon, joining the ring of green-clad elves now circling my king. I tried not to feel the sting of his words, but they’d found their mark. I’d made a mess of so much as I’d bumbled my way through Middle Earth. 

What followed next, I don’t want to remember - a king I loved treated without dignity, his crown ripped from his head in the tussle. Thranduil’s lips peeled back in a feral snarl as he hurled insults that too readily found their marks, cruel, evil words towards Legolas. Me. Belegon. 

Gandalf tried, I’ll give him that, but this was not Saruman playing Puppet Master with Theoden. This was the Dark Lord himself with his hooks into the Elvenking. Their combined might was more than Saruman or Theoden could dream of. Spell after spell fell from Gandalf’s lips with no visible effect except further enraging the Elvenking and his “guest”. 

My head tilted back for a sec as I sought out comfort from one specific face among the motley crew of dwarves, but then I gasped. _Bilbo._ Bofur had him, but from the looks of things, pandemonium had broken out up there. Was that Thorin brandishing Orcrist? The shock of it almost kept me rooted, but then my brain caught up. “Gloin!” I bellowed, cupping hands around my mouth. _“Gloin!”_

I’d thought Bofur too busy, but he dragged Bilbo up the rest of the way by the back of his trousers and then looked down at me. He blanched the instant he located me. How to tell him…? _Eh, forget it._ I ditched secrecy - like all the elves hadn’t already heard my words to Gandalf. “The Dark Lord,” I shouted up at him, pointing a finger to Thranduil. “Great time to attack, you think?”

_“What?”_ Gandalf, and woo-boy, did I ever wince at the depth of his anger. I think I’d finally succeeded in annoying him worse than a certain Took ever would. 

Bofur scrutinized the scene, looked me over briefly, then gave me a hard nod and disappeared from view. 

About that time, a rumble arose among the Elven Guard. Anger worked its way through their formations, turning their perfect stillness into a cauldron beginning to boil. Outrage lit icily cold faces. Not a one wasn’t incensed to see their king so shamed before dwarves and men alike, though some waited for a cue from Legolas before acting. A sizable minority, however, began to converge upon the monarch and his son. The Royal Guards shielding their king and prince tightened their ranks. Elves faced off with elves. 

A shudder shimmied down my spine as Thranduil drew his swords. The metallic, rasping sounds seemed endlessly loud. _Mercy._ I’d seen what he could do with those swords, and my mouth went dry. _Legolas._ The Elvenking attacked his own son, his weapons a dual blur. The blades sliced down from opposite directions, smooth as buttered silk. Legolas slipped beneath the first blade with an agile spin. The second was parried by Gandalf, his staff thrusting it aside. 

Thranduil never stopped. His blades flew with a deadly speed that terrified me. With each rapid clang of sword meeting sword, I jerked, fingers knotting tighter and tighter until they began to numb. The horrible dance of steel continued, Gandalf’s staff whirling as he spun at the waist from the impact of one blow. Legolas wielded two short swords with Royal Guards beside him, thwarting their king’s attacks. 

The dance faltered as Thranduil’s right sword was captured, its hilt locked by that of a silver-haired ellon in Royal Guard apparel who had insinuated himself to Legolas’s left. The guard twisted the locked hilts with a sudden wrench, trying and failing to force the weapon out of the Elvenking’s hands. 

“You would raise your weapon against your king, Sainor?” Thranduil crooned in a liquid voice. 

“My vow is to protect my king and the husband of my sister,” the silver-haired elf responded with absolute calm. “I fulfill that vow.”

Thranduil disengaged and leapt back a step. With a flourish of his swords, he attacked the elves and Gandalf once more. 

Clanging swords before me, clanging swords up above - I had to hand it to Sauron, he had a gift. It was a foul, _diabolical_ gift, but it was a gift nonetheless.

For no apparent reason, the Elvenking’s weapons suddenly slowed. Legolas and Sainor swept in, disarming him. At first, I thought Thranduil had allowed them to do so – and maybe a part of him, the sane core undaunted by Sauron’s interference, had – but then the Elvenking howled in fury, writhing like a trapped beast.

Gandalf backed up, panting, his staff at the ready.

I hugged myself as Belegon joined Legolas and Sainor in wrestling the king to the ground. I hated every second of it, but I watched, waiting for my opening. _I am going to rip you from him, Sauron, if I have to spend myself to do it._ (Sheesh, thinking about Theoden had me channeling movie-Gandalf.) But I stood by the sentiment. This would never be repeated. I would not allow it. The king I loved would never again be so humbled. 

The instant Legolas managed to pin his father and force Thranduil’s palms to the grassy ground, Legolas’s blue eyes clapped onto me. “Hwinneth.”

“Prince Legolas,” Gandalf objected. “What do you intend?”

“I intend to see my king restored,” Legolas said from between clenched teeth. Thranduil jerked against his hold, and it was all the three elves could do to keep him contained. 

I dismissed Gandalf from my mind. All that mattered was my gwathadar. 

With some trepidation, I called upon my dryad form, almost melting with relief to find it functional. With a big exhale, I stalked forward, inspecting the Elvenking’s golden aura. If anyone startled at my changed appearance, I really didn’t notice or care. The olive hue to my skin served to magnify my ability to drink up sunlight, thereby bolstering my weakened strength. Reaching my target, my toes burrowed into the dirt, branching and becoming roots. 

I was as ready as I’d ever be.

With my gwathadar’s hate-filled eyes burning up at me, I crouched down, fingertips brushing grass. “You have overstayed your welcome, _Dark Lord,”_ I hissed, not really mindful of the audience. “Such a big baddie, aren’t you, having to slink around in the shadows. How did it feel to die at the hands of a mortal?” My lips curled up unpleasantly. “Must’ve been very…embarrassing…for you.”

A gray robe appeared in my peripheral vision as Thranduil’s face contorted until it looked like another person altogether. “I will tear you apart, creature,” the monster inside my gwathadar hissed.

“Oh really?” I buffed my nails on my bodice and inspected them. “You don’t say.” _Aleks, I hope you can hear me because I’m really going to need your help in a second._ Provoking the Dark Lord didn’t rank high on my bucket list – actually, that gem might very well be the last thing I managed to add and check off of it permanently – but I wanted him out of Thranduil. I needed him riled and his rage fixed in one direction. Mine.

Lifting my hands, I was aware when dozens if not hundreds of bows were lifted and notched. 

“Stand down!” my foster brother roared, a cry taken up by more than one other elf. 

“Hold your fire!” Gandalf shouted.

My hands gently cupped the Elvenking’s cheeks. “I love you, Ada.” 

Immediately, a hungry satisfaction lit his icy eyes. “Yes,” he crooned. If he thought he’d trapped me – _That’s why he let himself be disarmed,_ I realized with a flash of insight – that particular sword cut both ways. 

A mass of dark energy pulsated near his belly, once, twice. Then, it shot out like a serpent’s strike, fast. Fine by me. I opened wide to welcome it. As it flooded into me through both palms, my own energy slipped past his defenses and nipped the core from its moorings before he even realized the danger. The black mass roared in fury, hissing threats and dark promises as I dragged every last part of him out of the Elvenking. With the transference, heat and a burning sting flared all along my palms. 

The Elvenking’s face assumed shocked lines. He was back. “Gwathadar,” I said with relief. 

“Hwinneth, what have you done?” he whispered.

I lost the ability to respond. The chipmunks squeaked and fled through my sleeves as I fell over backwards, black sludge beginning to wage war for my very being. Anchored by my toes, fingers buried in tufts of grass, I writhed, sweat dotting my brow. _Can’t let him win,_ I chanted to myself, repeating it over and over. 

_I see you,_ I heard, and a flaming eye appeared in my mind. For the record? It was as awful as reported. Pippin was spot on about the pain Sauron could cause. A part of me wondered absently if being zapped by Sauron through a palentir versus the Mirkwood plague was worse or not. 

Then he ramped up the voltage, and any residue of that line of inquiry was charred away. Unbelievable pain seared my nerves until it felt like the skin was being flayed from my body.

_Aleks!_


	47. War

### Chapter 46

Bofur rained insults down upon the Elvenking’s head as he sprang into action. The elf had brought Daphne here? Dragged her into the very thick of things?

Jumping to his feet, he first made certain his lass’s twin was safe. Thorin attacked Aleks like he was Azog himself, but most of the Company intervened to thwart him, placing themselves between the satyr and the king. It was almost the exact echo of what he’d seen with the elves, confirming his Daphne’s suspicions, at least to his mind. Shouts flew, attempts to reason and, aye, insults. He knew these dwarves, each of them. The crazy bunch would do all within their power to drag the king’s attention from their young naiad. 

One less dwarf would make no difference. Nor, he hoped, would two if chosen wisely. He hesitated not a second before he dragged Nori and Ori from the scuffle by the napes of their necks. Their scholar came up a-swinging, and Bofur ducked to avoid a fist in the face.

“Bofur,” Nori objected first.

“Aye, I know what you’ll be saying, but I’m needing your help. I need eyes in the towers, and as fast as you can manage, if you don’t mind,” he told them.

Ori’s eyes widened, and Nori asked, “The towers? Have you taken leave of your senses?” 

“My senses? Laddies, according to many of my fine kin, I lost those many a year ago.” He tossed them a big smile. “But as for today, I’m agreeing with my lass--”

_“Your_ lass?” Nori echoed, his attention finally torn from the site of their king taking on the rest of the Company.

Ori beamed. “I knew it.”

Bofur barreled on, dropping his smile. “The Elvenking was taken again. By _him.”_ He was gratified by how quickly the two donned serious frowns. “It makes one wonder, it does, if the enemy might be planning to capitalize upon our woes.” He jerked his head, including Thorin with the gesture. 

“A distraction,” Ori breathed.

“Aye,” Bofur agreed. 

Ori needed no more encouraging. He tugged at his brother’s sleeve, dragging them both from the balcony. “Hurry, Nori,” Ori said, giving his brother a firm shove where their paths diverged. “I’ll take one of the eastern towers. You take the west.”

Without further protest, their thief raced down the hall to the left in search of, Bofur was sure, an intact tower. Ori disappeared to the right.

Bofur hurried back to the balcony. He’d seen the Elvenking’s state, and he did not want to let his Daphne out of his sight for long. His boots skidded across loose stones as he reached the edge of the terrace, and he more collided with the balustrade than halted before it. Elbows upon the stone surface, Bofur leaned over just in time to see her fall onto her back, her skin a strange green hue that was rapidly developing streaks of black. The lass’s spine arched, her eyes open but unseeing.

His heart fair stopped. “Bofur, you fool,” he castigated himself. Trusting her with elves again? He’d warned the princeling, and for this, a reckoning would be due. Gandalf rushed to her side, and aye, he hoped the wizard could intervene, but she needed _him._ Spinning around, he shouted, “Bifur, your rope?”

“Kitchens,” his cousin replied in Khuzdul, his attention firmly engaged upon the task of keeping young Aleks alive. 

“Kitchens,” Bofur echoed. With a burst of speed, he tore from the balcony as fast as he could, racing to the nearest stairwell and then down the spiraling set of stairs, using his arms to propel him around the turns. 

_Hang on, my lass._ She was a fighter, but a reluctant one. She’d be needing him to keep her from panic and to tell her it would be all right. _I’ll not lose you, lassie._

Bofur jumped down the last stairs to the final landing and rushed down another hall to the First Kitchen. His boots echoed loudly as he pounded through the big, empty room to where Bifur had left his gear. He attacked his cousin’s rucksack, wrenching the flap open and upending the contents in search of the rope.

OoOoOo

Nori raced up the stairs of the interior tower, one of a handful that comprised the backbone of Erebor’s defenses. Built within the mountain herself, the towers were invisible to the outside world, their location only betrayed by the series of narrow windows at each level – windows cleverly disguised to blend into the mountain’s crevasses and folds. They were perfectly situated to give archers an advantage in times of war.

Nori discovered first hand as he flew up the stairs that the towers had not escaped Smaug’s wrath. Housing both siege weaponry and Erebor’s massive alarm horns, they’d been targeted by the dragon and damaged. The exterior wall – at least of this tower – was cracked, and stone debris cluttered the stairs. 

A mess, these towers were, and to the thief’s mind, not the most reassuring of sights with Smaug yet unaccounted for. The lot of them bore witness of just what an enraged dragon could do even to stone.

Breaking out of the close quarters of the tower’s belly, the thief reached the small, topmost belvedere, a square room with no outer wall. Steps slowing, Nori edged to the very tip of the exposed ledge, scanning the horizon. 

His eyes flared. “That would be an army, right enough,” he said. Orcs, and in no small numbers. Wargs and trolls, too. 

Nori’s heart skipped one beat before he hurried to the massive horn. It lay tilted on its side near the back of the landing, and a fine crack ran along its girth. Kicking debris from his path, Nori hoped against hope it was intact enough to cry a warning to all below.

OoOoOo

_Aleks!_

Orcrist came close to parting Aleks’s head from his body as Daphne’s plea blasted through his mind. Thorin pressed his advantage with hard, unrelenting strikes slashing back and forth. 

All Aleks could do was dodge while the dwarves did everything they could to stop their king from making so much mincemeat of him. Already, Aleks had a handful of gashes upon his arms and one shoulder from close calls. 

Dwarves shouted and fouled Thorin’s aim time and again, but through it all, stormy gray eyes burned at Aleks with such fury and hatred that it totally unnerved him. Thorin would not be distracted, and he would not be deterred, even going so far as to slam Orcrist’s hilt into Fíli’s cheek for daring to get in his way. _Fíli_ of all people. 

It was as if a beloved, protective family dog suddenly turned feral, only this was so much worse. This was Thorin. And Thorin was infinitely more dangerous than a crazed pooch.

_He’s really serious,_ Aleks thought, a part of him bruised to realize it. Thorin, the dwarf who’d instructed him, counseled him and corrected him, his hero - _Thorin_ was trying to kill him. _It’s the madness,_ a part of him reiterated, but when those gray eyes glared at him with death in their depths, it was hard to remember that. A part of him felt absolutely betrayed. He wondered if this was what Daph had felt when he’d turned on her. Wondered and regretted all over again.

_Bofur tried to warn me,_ he thought as he dove between Gloin’s legs after tripping, scrambling to escape before Thorin could capitalize upon his misstep. Bofur hadn't, however, mentioned the little fact that pushing a dragon sick dwarf was tantamount to suicide. 

Still, Aleks stood by every word he’d spoken. Even if he lost Thorin’s good will permanently, he’d not recant them. _That_ was the person these dwarves had taught him to be. 

_Daph, hold on,_ he tried to send. Aleks had no idea what she faced, but she’d sounded scared. He wanted to scan for Bofur, but with Thorin coming after him the way he was, there was no time to seek out the toymaker even visually. 

Thorin’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth. “Traitors. All of you. Deceitful. Disloyal.” Those eyes returned to Aleks as Thorin adjusted and firmed his clasp on Orcrist.

Aleks began to wonder if he’d make it through this at all.

OoOoOo

At the sound of the horn, Thranduil’s eyes left his suffering Hwinneth. He searched the horizon. “Sainor, confirm, if you will.”

His wife’s brother bowed deeply. “Of course, sire.” The silver-haired ellon, so much the mirror of his Caranoran, gained the side of the Lonely Mountain and scaled the foreboding face with ease, his dark green uniform standing in stark contrast against the mountain’s subdued gray. 

“Belegon, swiftly. Bring me a healer,” Thranduil said as he slowly lowered to a squat and collected his crown, his body coiled with absolute fury. His gaze remained upon his young charge. He held little hope that a healer would succeed in aiding her if the wizard could not, but he would exhaust all avenues. What he would not do was simply watch her fade or have her soul ravaged by the Dark Lord. 

What he’d endured, he would never allow to happen to Hwinneth.

OoOoOo

Gandalf muttered angry curses under his breath between efforts to rid the naiad of Sauron’s taint. _Fool,_ he longed to say again, yet he’d witnessed the exchange between Elvenking and the young female. Compassion and understanding mixed with his frustration. Oh, he understood her motives, but her response earlier confirmed that she possessed knowledge dangerous to them all. The Dark Lord could not be permitted to access it.

Closing his eyes, he spoke another incantation.

OoOoOo

A low, rumbling noise seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet. Everyone froze, even Thorin. Aleks hurriedly backed away from the king, his lungs burning as he panted for oxygen. His clothes were plastered to his body, rank with sweat.

 _What was that?_ Aleks risked a glance at the sky, suspecting thunder, but there was not a cloud in sight. _If stone giants pull away from the Lonely Mountain and begin to wage war upon us, I **quit,**_ a part of him pronounced.

He kept a wary eye upon the dwarf king. Thorin with a sword was a demon. 

“The alarm is sounded,” Balin said, turning to his king. 

As if in a daze, Thorin made his way to the edge of the balcony, Orcrist’s tip descending as his opposite hand came to rest upon the balustrade. 

“Who?” Thorin asked, his voice lacking in strength.

Aleks sidled over to the railing, trying not to draw Thorin’s attention. He chanced a few glanced to the horizon. 

An alarm. No real challenge to figure out who might be arriving on the scene. The tired part of him whined, _They can’t be here. They can’t attack now._ It jumped up and down, pointing out that nothing was in place, not the blind he’d wanted built, not the agreement with the men and elves. Dain hadn’t arrived, and Thorin? Well, Thorin was nowhere near fit to lead them.

A second blast originated from another section of Erebor.

“That would be Nori and Ori,” Bombur said, mopping sweat from his brow. The cook’s pale face was wreathed in lines of worry. “Bofur sent them to the towers.” 

Thorin’s gaze turned towards Aleks. Was that regret there? Maybe, but he saw a whole heap of anger, too. “Aleks,” the king began.

Aleks braced himself for more arguments, absently wondering if there was any chance he’d survive it if he jumped down from the balcony. If Thorin lost it again, no way did he want to stick around for a second helping of what Thorin could dish out. 

His sister’s cry had felt close, and the taste of her fear had not left the forefront of his mind. He had to do something.

OoOoOo

Bofur burst onto the balcony, tossing one end of the rope to his cousin. Together, they set to work, knotting one end of the length about a baluster. Bifur tested his weight against the stone support as Bofur threw the rest of the rope over the rail.

Behind him, Aleks was snapping at Thorin, “…think I’m doing? You tried to kill me, Thorin. So much for your promises. You swore to share the wealth of Erebor with those men, and you swore to me you’d never turn me out. Your promises, O Great King, are _nothing.”_

Silence. Even Bofur turned around at the bold insult that had just been handed to their king. 

“She aids our enemy,” Thorin said. “Did you not see the arrow the Elvenking aimed my way?”

“No, I was too busy dodging Orcrist,” Aleks snarled. 

Bofur was about to rappel down the rope when Aleks snatched it from him. Only Bifur’s steadying hold protected the lad from a thrashing by _his_ hand this time. 

“But I did see _you_ shoot at the elf _unprovoked,”_ Aleks said. 

“You go to her aid, you don’t come back. Do you hear me? Aleks? _Aleks!_ You forfeit your place in Erebor,” Thorin warned. 

Aleks hesitated, jaw clenched.

Bofur was done being polite. He ripped the rope from the lad and descended as fast as he could.

“What in-- _Bofur!”_ he heard his king bellow.

If the situation weren’t so dire, he thought, a dwarf could enjoy causing such shock among his fellows. By Durin, he could. 

The instant his feet touched ground, he raced for his lass.

OoOoOo

Aleks watched Bofur descend faster than an orangutan, the dude more sliding than rappelling. Aleks spared Thorin one more look. “I thought I was already out,” Aleks said with scorn. “Can’t you see how erratic you’ve become?” He tossed his head in dismissal. “You are the one who taught me the value of family. If doing what is right means I forever lose your regard, then so be it. Consider it forfeit.”

Without a backward glance, he too descended.

OoOoOo

Thorin stared in shock, a part of him rising up and realizing something was indeed very wrong. With him.

Bilbo came to his side. “I’ll leave,” the hobbit offered, his jaw set and Sting’s pommel held in one small fist. “If that is what you wish.” Bilbo stared him in the eye, unflinching. “But Thorin? If you do not fight this illness, it will rob you of all you hold dear. You’ve neglected your family, your people, and your honor. The Arkenstone is a pretty bit of goods, I’ll grant you that. But is it worth what you stand to lose?”

Gloin came to Bilbo’s side, placing a hand upon the hobbit’s shoulder in clear support. Thorin stepped away, his hands white about stone banister before him, his gaze locked upon the tableau below. 

Bilbo’s words rang in his ears.

OoOoOo

By the time Aleks reached Daphne, Bofur had her tucked against his chest, her back to him, and his arms wrapped around her torso with her head beneath his chin. Legolas crouched on Daph’s side, his face marked by lines of deep concern.

The Elvenking stood nearby with hands clasped behind his back, his face expressionless and body like a marble statue as he stared across the sea of elven warriors waiting for his orders. Their wizard stood beside him, telling him something about how he needed more information before he’d be able to assist Daphne.

“You can do this, my lass,” Bofur said over and over again. “You can fight this. But mark me, my Daphne, we’ll be having words about this. You cannot keep scaring decades off my life for I’ve not got an endless supply of them.”

Aleks’s lips twitched at the teasing tone Bofur used. Then with a deep inhale, Aleks inspected his twin. She’d gone dryad, a sign of just how serious the situation had become. Black tinged her fingers as if she’d dipped them in an inkwell, and streaks projected up from there, delineating each vein. 

“Can you aid her?” the Elvenking asked, twisting at the waist to face them. For the first time, Aleks considered that the Elvenking’s affection might be legit. Though his face was bereft of emotion, there was something there that told Aleks he was way past furious…and deeply alarmed. 

“Yes,” Aleks said with more certainty than he felt, Gandalf’s gaze a tangible thing. Turning to his sister, he dropped to his knees opposite Legolas. “Always the overachiever,” he attempted to joke as he returned to full satyr. “Can you never do things by half?” _Bofur’s been rubbing off on us,_ was a random, peripheral thought. 

Her body kept twisting within Bofur’s grasp. The dwarf had a tight hold on her, pinning her in place. 

“How about we take a trip to Mordor when this is over? There’s an object I’m dying to drop into Mount Doom,” Aleks growled. 

He could tell Bofur liked that idea. A lot. “Aye.” 

“An object?” Gandalf demanded sharply.

“You can be assured of my assistance as well,” came the very dangerous, silky voice of the Elvenking. Aleks shivered, glad that fury was not directed his way. “The One Ring, Mithrandir,” Thranduil answered. “Its location is known.”

“Known? Sire,” Gandalf said with urgency. “Tell me everything.”

Aleks returned to his twin. He was about to link his fingers through hers when he noted their blistered, raw state. What was up with that? Had she grabbed something metal? “Bofur, did you see her hands?”

“Aye,” the dwarf said. “I can do nothing with her struggling like this.” Frustration. Anger.

True enough. Daph couldn’t remain still, jerky violently with no warning every so often. 

Aleks took a deep breath and grabbed hold of Daphne’s wrists. _Contact._ Their connection flared to full strength, complete in a way it hadn’t been since the Misty Mountains. Black pinpoints of energy were making their way across her own green and amber field. A frown claimed him. _What is that?_ The energy deviation was bad enough, but he suddenly became aware of something else. There was a physical aspect to the Dark Lord’s attack. 

This was no disease, Aleks realized. More a parasite, a microscopic one that adored the circulatory system based upon its movements. _How could this infect trees?_ As fast as the question arose, _Does it matter?_ Not remotely. Not at that moment. Daph was wrestling to protect herself, and here he was, wondering about the nature of the stuff. _Idiot._

His sister fought the good fight, especially for how weakened she’d been, but her forte was plants, not the human body. Without his vision, she was fighting half-blind. Aleks quickly deepened the link between them, forming the naiad unit they were designed to be, and as their minds converged and unified, they both got their first full picture of what was going on. Aleks inhaled with a hiss, horrified. 

“Aleks?” Bofur demanded. 

_No time._ This parasite was not plant or animal, it was both and yet energy in some twisted way. The Frankenstein-ish bug felt absolutely wrong to their combined naiad senses as nothing he’d ever encountered before. Its dual nature enabled it to infect both plants and people, and its energy presence… 

_E=mc2._ Weren’t scientists back home discovering how mass and energy states were more fluid than they’d ever dreamed? A chill took him. Weeks before, she’d told him how Morgoth had perverted nature. It had blown his mind when she’d revealed to him that orcs had been elves twisted by Morgoth for his own purposes. From what Aleks saw in his sister’s body, Sauron was following in that freak’s footsteps, only at a microscopic level. 

So why wasn’t this junk infecting him? Or Bofur?

_Because I’m the one who knows where the Ring is,_ Daph thought, and the seething stuff went wild as soon as she thought it. _Aleks, he studied me. This is meant for me._

Sauron might have done just that, but he hadn’t studied him, or a naiad working pair in action. And that, Aleks determined, would prove Daph’s saving grace. She’d expected to fight more of the same stuff as she’d found in Mirkwood, but this infection was different. Only by the merging of satyr and dryad energies would they be able to round up and contain the little parasitic monsters, chasing them from her limbs and forcing them into the digestive tract. 

She was going to have to be ill to eject the bugs from her body. They both recognized it, and he could feel her distaste at the idea of the squiggly little things passing through her mouth. Too, they’d need something to destroy both the plant and animal components as soon as they emerged. Not one of these parasites could survive. 

_Fire,_ Daph thought. 

He flashed an assent back to her. Getting set to work quickly, trying to not give Sauron any warning to limit his ability to counter them, Aleks offered, _It could be worse._

Amusement. _You turning into Bofur now?_

He flashed her the impression of a wide grin. Maybe I should give him a run for his money. Dethrone the King of Silver Linings. 

Daph sniggered. 

_On three,_ Aleks said. _One…two…three!_ They burst into action, erecting and dragging makeshift nets of their combined energies. Their sudden assault did not go unchallenged. 

_Who are you?_ a voice asked…in his head, freaking Aleks out. The voice was scary enough to make the worst horror flick villain sound like a wuss. _Move over Freddie Krueger,_ Aleks thought with a heaping dollop of frightened disbelief. _Sauron,_ Aleks identified to himself with no doubt. 

_Who ARE you?_ the Dark Lord repeated, and a compulsion hit Aleks, channeled through Daphne, demanding he answer.

_Don’t,_ Daph warned, immediately acting to shut Aleks out, protect him. 

Aleks refused to let his twin go. He blanked his mind and dug in, holding his sister to him and continuing to round up those mutant parasites. 

Sauron retaliated in fury. Conjoined with Daph as Aleks was, the pain exploded through both of their heads. Daph’s back arched, her spine twisting. Aleks’s back muscles spasmed in sympathy. 

“Aleks?” Bofur demanded. 

Between gritted teeth, he said, “We’ve got this. He just…” Pant. “…doesn’t give up…gracefully. Worst sore loser _ever.”_

“Is there anything we can do?” the heretofore silent prince asked.

“Legolas, we need some booze and a hot fire,” Aleks said around another bout of pain. His flesh pebbled with chills, his body blaring all kinds of alarms as it seared his nerves. 

“You shall have it,” the elf prince stated. Aleks heard him speak in low tones to someone else. Who, he didn’t see. 

Aleks saw the toymaker press a gentle kiss to Daphne’s temple and managed a smile. Linked as they were, he couldn’t help but know just how much that kiss meant to his sister. 

He was _so_ going to tease her about it later. _Bofur and Daphne sitting in a tree…_

OoOoOo

Thranduil watched the dwarf through narrowed eyes. A part of him noted the gentle way this _Bofur_ treated Hwinneth, but he was not fooled. Dwarves could not be trusted. Oakenshield had once more aptly demonstrated that point.

Gandalf set the twigs and branches collected by a handful of Thranduil’s Royal Guards to flame with a single word, his attention locked upon the naiads.

When Sainor returned, Thranduil dragged his gaze from the trio sprawled on the ground and focused his attention where it needed to be. As much as he longed to aid his _fileg,_ the mantle of kingship was an exacting master. He could not so much as touch her, not given the risk to himself. 

One glimpse of Sainor’s face told Thranduil all he needed to know. “Legolas, mount up,” the Elvenking commanded his son as soon as his son had delivered the requested bottle of spirits to the dwarf. 

Legolas bowed before spinning around and leaping into his saddle. Thranduil did likewise, gaining a seat upon his stag. From the corner of his eye, he noted when Sainor mounted a black stallion, and his own, lost guard’s replacement, dark-haired Lannor, nudged his gray towards Thranduil’s flank. 

“Sainor, report,” Thranduil ordered.

“They have the numbers, liege,” the elf responded at once. “Orcs approach from both the east and west. I believe I also spied movement beneath the trees to the south.”

“Doubtless the goblins,” Thranduil commented. “Lord Bard?” He waited as Erebor’s horns sounded again, quick, short blasts. “I believe we are out of time,” Thranduil said. “Our people must be moved.”

Bard nodded shortly. Thranduil registered the new note of distrust now tainting the man’s gaze, but at least the man had not decided to separate himself from both elves and dwarves after witnessing both kings’ debasement. 

“Ill timing,” Bard muttered. He was realizing as Thranduil already had the precarious position of their peoples. They had not prepared camp for an armed assault upon both fronts. The enemy was early. Once again, Hwinneth’s stories deviated from actuality – by cause of her presence or happenstance? 

“Planned,” Thranduil told him. “By a master at the game.” Thranduil turned his head a few degrees, bringing his personal guard into view without removing his focus from the land before them. “Guard Lannor?”

“My liege?”

“Escort Lord Bard back to our encampment. For the duration, you are assigned to the Lord of Dale.” Lannor’s dark gray eyes flashed before his head inclined in the affirmative. Thranduil urged his mount closer to the guard who had seconded Edenor for many centuries. “His survival is important, my friend.”

“As is yours,” the elf replied stiffly.

Thranduil let the comment pass. “When you reach camp, make haste to Lord Uiron. Inform him to leave all behind. Speed is of the essence. Our people are to flee to the mountain.”

“Here, sire?” Lannor asked, his gaze flicking to Erebor’s massive doors. 

_Doubtless, Oakenshield has them barred._ Thranduil’s smile was wintry. “Here. Whether Oakenshield agrees or not, he is about to have guests. If we must break down Erebor’s gates, that is what we will do.”

Bard and Lannor spurred their mounts into a full gallop, heading across Erebor’s fields. Thranduil next turned to another Royal Guard. “Guard Ionor?”

“Sire.” The chestnut-haired ellon in Royal Guard attire saluted.

“Protect my daughter. Guard Brethil, you as well.” 

The violet-eyed ellon saluted and moved to stand by Ionor’s side. 

Only two, Thranduil thought with some bitterness. He would assign a whole contingent to his dryad, but if this battle was not won, a contingent would not save her. Better that every able-bodied ellyn fight now rather than divide his forces. 

Thranduil turned his attention to the silver-haired ellon waiting patiently upon a black steed. “Sainor, disobeying direct orders?” he asked lightly, his face schooled to blank severity. 

“No, my liege,” the guard replied with a half bow from the saddle. “The queen commanded my presence.”

_Ah, Rinel._ That she placed her eldest brother on the battlefield should surprise him, but it did not. Sainor was her most trusted advisor and friend. If she feared for her husband and king, there was no one else she would beseech for aid. “I am in need of a Royal Guard,” Thranduil said.

A ghost of a smile. “So it seems, husband of my favorite sister.”

“Have you any others?” Thranduil asked dryly. 

“Sisters? Alas, no, my liege.”

Thranduil felt his own lips curve upwards. “Sainor?”

“Yes, sire?” 

“I would like to remain on speaking terms with my wife when this is all over. Try to remain in one piece.” With one last hard look at the dwarf holding his Hwinneth, he kneed his steed into a canter, heading towards where battle would soon be joined. Once again, he drew his swords.

OoOoOo

As the thunderous, low blasts again filled the air, chills raced down Thorin’s spine. How long since he’d heard Erebor’s horns? _Decades,_ he thought. Not since the day of Smaug’s attack, the day the dwarves had lost their home. Now, the horns would not be silent for the many warnings they cried.

Whirling about, he found Nori waving down to them from the eastern tower. “’Ware, orcs closing in from the east,” the thief called down, only to be followed a second later by Ori’s, “And the west. They approach fast. If my eyes are not deceiving me, something approaches from the air, too.”

Thorin stood rooted, his mind in utter chaos as his gaze drifted down to the man, Bard, who had his Arkenstone. The man mounted with an elf at his side, and both took off at a full gallop towards the encampment beyond Erebor’s fields. Stone crumbled beneath Thorin’s fingers.

“Thorin?” Dori asked. “Thorin? What do we do?”

He could not think. The Arkenstone - that _thief_ carried it away!

Into the silence, Fíli spoke, his voice ringing with authority. “Oin, to the fore infirmary. Prepare for casualties.” In a lower voice, turning to his left, Fíli said, “The injured must be moved here. Bilbo, you are on friendlier terms with the elves and men. Get down there and inform whomever remained behind that their injured, their women and children may take shelter within our Halls.” 

Thorin watched their burglar rush to the same rope that Aleks and Bofur had utilized and shimmy down its length. 

“Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, get that front gate open. We’ll need to hurry the people in before the orcs can cut them down.”

Dwalin shot Thorin a queer look before bowing to his heir and departing. 

“Bombur, Bifur, find us armor and weapons. Bring them to the First Hall at the gates.” The two sped off. “And after you are done with that, be sure to load the trebuchets and mangonels!” 

Bombur waved one hand over his head in acknowledgment as he puffed away, never looking back.

Thorin watched as Fíli became all that he’d hoped he would one day be: strong, decisive, commanding. And in that moment, the realization dawned. Aleks was right in all that he’d said. _Bilbo_ had been right. He, Thorin, had broken his word, something he’d sworn he would never do after seeing the Elvenking’s conduct decades before. _I- I have done exactly as he._ Dragon sickness. For the first time, he dared consider the possibility and feared. Would he truly become like his grandsire? 

“Fíli,” he managed to whisper, the syllables awkward upon his tongue. 

At his soft summons, his nephew turned to him, distrust and hurt written upon his brow. Fíli’s cheek was swollen, clear evidence of Thorin’s mistreatment. Shame rose within Thorin’s breast, a shame strong enough to near steal the breath from his lungs.

Thorin grabbed his nephew to him and hugged him tight. “Forgive me,” he said, tightening his hold still further. “Forgive me.” Releasing his nephew, he framed his dear face with his hands. “I have never been more humbled, or so proud, Fíli.” 

“Uncle,” Fíli managed, his eyes filling with unshed tears. 

Thorin’s brow descended to Fíli’s for one long moment. Releasing Fíli, Thorin collected Kíli in a similar embrace. “You do the line of Durin such honor, both of you. Forgive me. I have not.” Raw, the words fell. 

“Uncle, it is not you,” Fíli spoke before Kíli could respond. “We thought our line cursed with madness.”

“Are we not?” Thorin asked bitterly. 

“No,” Fíli answered with the same new confidence. “The Rings of Power, Uncle. Did you know that each dwarf to wear one succumbed to greed until it ruined his kingdom?”

“Do not excuse me,” Thorin said harshly.

“It is truth,” Fíli said, standing firm in his conviction. Once again, Thorin found himself proud of this nephew of his. _Dís will be so pleased with him._ “Uncle, the Rings could not bring us to heel like obedient dogs as the Dark Lord wished, but they did corrupt what they could. The sickness is their handiwork.”

Unlikely since he’d never worn one, but Thorin dismissed the subject and strode from the balcony. “I want you both armed and ready for battle.”

“Uncle?”

Thorin halted without turning, hand upon Orcrist. 

“The stories. Daphne’s stories. They speak of our deaths in this battle.” 

Kíli inhaled sharply, but Thorin only half-turned towards Fíli. Everything in him seized upon the words. “How?” he demanded.

“Azog,” Fíli told him. “You fall. Kíli and I die defending you. Aleks warned me and said he’d be covering us, but now…” His hand lifted and dropped.

“Aleks attempts to save his sister,” Thorin said, guilt churning in his gut to remember the way he’d attacked the lad. _Mahal._ He rubbed his face. “As any dwarf would.” He resumed his quick march from the balcony. “Meet in the First Hall. And _hurry,”_ he told them. Their boots pounded in the opposite direction. Only then did he dare add, Aleks’s words playing in his ears, “My precious sons.”

OoOoOo

Gandalf studied the fire with a fierce attention to detail. None of Sauron’s foul creation could be allowed to survive. _Sauron._ Gandalf’s grip upon his staff tightened. His worst fears, realized. _Word must be sent to Saruman, and quickly._

The dryad heaved again from where Bofur had her suspended above the flames. A painful process, Gandalf suspected. Aleks stood beside Bofur with one hand to her forehead, aiding his sister. Both naiads appeared drained, their faces pale and drawn. Whatever victory they had won had not come easily. 

_Fool,_ he thought once again, yet the rebuke no longer contained any anger. In its place, he felt tired and old. He lauded the intent behind Mistress Hunt’s willingness to sacrifice herself for another. Only the current circumstances made the action reprehensible. 

He should have found a way to return the naiads to their realm when their tale had been told in Rivendell. _Fool._ This time the label was pinned to himself in his thoughts. Allowing other matters discussed during the meeting of the White Council to dominate, swaying him from broaching the topic of the twins with the others, it had been a gross mistake. 

The heaves abated, and Aleks provided his twin with a flask of alcohol. Daphne swished out her mouth and spat into the flames. 

She knew where the One Ring resided. Once again, he asked himself who had brought the naiads to Arda. And more importantly, why.

OoOoOo

Madness, to try and move women and children with orcs now in sight. The instant King Thranduil’s orders had been conveyed to him by Royal Guard Lannor, Lord Uiron had whipped their people into motion, harrying everyone to obey their king with all haste. Little could he have imagined the overwhelming numbers of orcs he’d soon see bearing down upon Erebor from not one but two different directions.

 _Dear Eru,_ he thought. The closest force – that from the west – bypassed them, heading straight for Erebor’s gates and the golden wall of elves re-positioning to meet them. Before relief could set in, however, a segment separated itself from the larger body and marched with even, heavy steps towards his camp. 

Lord Uiron shouted commands, ordering every spare mount loaded up with children. With his three score of Elven Guard defenders positioned as a shield around their most vulnerable charges, he whacked the last stragglers soundly upon the rump to hurry them into position between the forming lines of his troops. 

“Lord Bard,” he called, his words almost drowned out by the rhythmic pounding of orcish boots. Women and children whimpered, many crying out in fear. 

Bard whipped his horse around, his dun steed’s eyes rolling. Beside him, Royal Guard Lannor studied the oncoming enemy with white-lipped silence. 

“Front or rear?” Uiron asked, attempting to calm his own mount. At his question, Lannor’s gaze turned to him with a sardonic lift of the brow. 

The man eyed the orcs approaching with ground-swallowing strides from the rear and then the two bodies of orcs rushing to collide with Thranduil’s army upon the grassy plains before them. Uiron saw Bard’s jaw tense. He was realizing what Uiron already had. Unless the Valar intervened, their group was going to end up pinched between the two forces. 

Bard’s jaw clenched reflexively. “My men will defend our retreat, Master Elf, if you will take the lead.” 

Uiron wordlessly gestured his agreement and issued commands to his ellyn. The mass of people began to move forward. As he rode to assume the point position, Uiron heard one of the healers say, “We cannot hope to defeat such numbers.” Likely, Uiron acknowledged, the healer was correct. 

As if summoned by the healer’s words, a dragon winged into view from behind the Lonely Mountain’s back. Lord Uiron’s hands clenched around the pommel of one weapon. His task had just grown from difficult to nigh impossible.


	48. Love and Sacrifice

### Chapter 47

_**Elsewhere** _

Muriste l’Adelon stood with barely suppressed rage between two echnari so pitifully devoid of power that they were relegated to a servile existence. She could extinguish their life-light with a word, yet they _dared…_

“This is kin-slaying,” she said with icy formality to the echnari arrayed all around her. 

“Kin-slaying, did you say?” Ovid purred. He circled her like a hawk before the killing strike, his pace slow and each footfall fraught with weight. “Kin-slaying,” he said as if musing. “This from one who took custody of the two required to save the rest of us…” He swiveled with no warning, his black hair fanning behind as he whipped towards her, his ebony eyes glowing. “…and allowing them to be _stolen,”_ he hissed. “Your deceit and cowardice know no bounds.” He stalked closer. “Your penalty has been decreed. Banishment.” A cold smile. “Unless you succeed now. A chance, Muriste, to fix your error. It is more than you deserve.”

Succeed. Muriste eyed the open portal standing some twenty feet before her. None had dared enter. None could detect what might reside beyond that glowing slit other than to know a naiad pair dwelled there – the lost pair she had hunted for so long. Using that vague sense, the echnari had been able to home the portal in upon the naiads’ general location. The two were _there,_ and all of the echnari knew it.

But should Muriste walk through that gateway, she would be severed from all contact with Faerie. She would be weakened. Her abilities, lessened, when an unknown power dwelled in that land. 

Muriste refused to betray any sign of fear or doubt. “Have you considered our other options?” she asked lightly, the idea one she had entertained for months now. She’d suggested it before. Perhaps now Ovid would listen.

“Breeding the feral naiads?” Ovid’s cold voice adopted a mocking ring. “But my dear, it has already been tried.”

Shock coursed through her. It had been the only viable solution that might save her from being tossed through that portal. “I assume you met with difficulties,” she said, her lips strangely numb. 

He smiled unpleasantly. “It seems naiads lose their fertility when they turn feral. So yes, my dear, I met with _difficulty.”_

At the sinister emphasis upon the last word, Muriste straightened, her chin lifting. Ovid’s delicate-looking hand clamped upon her chin like a vise and forced her eyes to his. “You lost them,” he crooned, that awful smile remaining upon his face. “So you will find them.”

“Kin-slaying,” she whispered, unable to suppress the thread of panic from leaking into her voice. 

“Ah, but I have a gift,” he said, releasing her chin and stepping back. With a flick of his eyes, a familiar werewolf was forced into the room, his eyes wild with panic and rage. It was the naiads’ erstwhile parent. “We have separated the males from their mates,” Ovid informed her, both ignoring when the werewolf roared and attempted to shred his escorts. The echnari assigned to him wrestled him to the ground with no visible effort, the pair showing more distaste than concern. 

Ovid continued: “You have six hours. No more. Find the naiads and return them to me.”

“Or?” the werewolf growled, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. 

Ovid cocked one brow and turned his head the barest degree to one side, his attention turning to the foolish wolf. “Or?” he asked in his silky voice. Another ominous smile. “You spend the rest of your life in that other world.” A pause as his smile grew, this time filling with dark amusement. “I suggest you hunt well, Alpha.”

The alpha bellowed and fought, but he and each of his eight packmates was forced through the gate. Muriste followed under her own power, her lips white and brows lowered. 

They would pay. The naiads. The one who stole them from her. Even Ovid. 

Pay and pay and pay.

OoOoOo

As Erebor’s gates creaked open, daylight spilled across Thorin’s face, and the roar of orcish battle cries filled his ears. Not a breath later, the clash of battle replaced the shouts as two armies collided not far from the foot of the Lonely Mountain.

War had begun. 

He caught a brief glimpse of a familiar, gray-robed figure kicking his horse into a flat-out gallop towards the front lines, but he lost sight of the wizard as his path carried him from view. Gandalf’s scathing remarks of the night before returned to him. If only he’d listened.

Abandoning the useless thought, Thorin scanned the plains of Erebor. Elves defending his kingdom. How it rankled. _Dain will come._

Bilbo met him outside the gates and fell into a jog beside him. “Thorin, I’ve been told the men are attempting to send their women and children here.”

“Their wounded as well, I imagine,” Thorin said before calling over his shoulder, “Ori, you and Nori are to man the siege weapons. Send Bombur and Bifur to me. Use aught you can locate as projectiles. Furniture, bolts, whatever you can put hand to.”

“Aye,” the scholar said with a salute and turned to go. 

His nephew’s next words stopped him. “Raid the Treasury if you must,” Fíli said in a hard tone. Thorin’s head whipped around and found him grim faced, his eyes challenging. 

Every muscle in Thorin’s body clamped tight. “What?” he asked in a low voice.

“What is more important, Uncle?” Fíli asked, stepping close. “Your people or your gold?”

_How dare he--?_ The thought slammed into a wall as unyielding as pure mithril. _Dragon sickness._ Chills pebbled his body. The wealth of Erebor belonged to his people, yet it was poison to their king. Ill to his core, he realized his own judgment was not to be trusted. Not where this was concerned.

Outrage coursed through his veins, but holding Fíli’s eyes with his own, he inclined his head. “Do as he says,” he told Ori. The scholar scampered off. Every fiber of Thorin’s being rebelled against this action, and words of retraction pressed upon his tongue, demanding release. He bit down until he tasted blood and resumed his marched towards the battlefield. 

Thorin led his Company onward, loping until they reached his naiads and Bofur. Two elves stood beside the trio with hands upon their weapons. The auburn-haired elf ignored them but the other spared the dwarf contingent an assessing glance, his curved weapon drawn. 

“Master Baggins, return to Erebor,” Thorin said as they reached the small group. He frowned. Both naiads looked worse for the wear, wan and exhausted. “Bofur.”

The hobbit cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Thorin,” Bilbo objected. “I do not think--”

Bofur leaped to his feet. “Aye?” His left hand reached down, hoisting Mistress Hunt to her feet by the elbow. 

Thorin noted the hand Bofur had wrapped around her waist and the way she leaned into him. He cocked a brow briefly at Balin, the old mystery at last solved. He should have realized after witnessing Bofur’s reaction to news of her demise, but he’d been too consumed with thoughts of Erebor to see what had been right before his nose. _What else have I missed?_ He dismissed the question, knowing there was naught to be done about it now. “Escort Mistress Hunt to the infirmary. She may assist Oin.”

Relief appeared upon the toymaker’s face. “Aye, Thorin.” The dwarf’s characteristic grin flashed. “See, lads? The battle’s all but won now that we have our king to lead us.”

A rousing chorus of cheers followed his words. 

Thorin had never felt less deserving. Even now, standing outside Erebor’s walls with clean air in his lungs, the grasping fingers of greed clawed at him, beckoning to return to the Treasury and the fortune that resided there. Or better, to hunt down that man, Bard – _Thief!_ – and retrieve what was his.

He thrust the compulsion aside as best he could. “Join us when you can,” he told Bofur. “I’ve ordered Nori and Ori to the siege weapons. I want you and your family with me.” He’d not have his unofficial honor guard scattered when Kíli and Fíli’s lives might well depend upon who was there to protect their backs. 

“Aye.” Bofur took off at a fast clip, the dryad nodding to Thorin and giving him a fleeting smile as she ran at the toymaker’s side. The two elves followed in her wake. 

She halted in her tracks with no warning, and Bofur quickly responded. Thorin watched as she said something to his dwarf and showcased her hands. Bofur’s grin flashed. Bending down, he offered cupped palms with a significant look towards Aleks. A second later, two furry chipmunks raced to him and scaled Bofur’s arms. They were swiftly transferred to Mistress Hunt. 

Before they could depart again, Thorin raised his voice. “Mistress Hunt!”

She halted at once, her gaze finding him.

“We have inbound refugees. Remain in the First Hall. Direct any wounded to Oin and the rest elsewhere. Keep the hall empty if you can.” _For we may yet find ourselves retreating there for refuge,_ he didn’t voice aloud. The First Hall could well support them all, refugees, armies and orcs with room to spare, but he wanted the people seeking shelter within his walls out of immediate harm’s way. 

She bobbed her head and the four set off once more.

“Thorin,” Bilbo began again.

He leveled the Shireling with a somber gaze, but it was Gloin who answered first. “You’re too important, laddie. We cannot be risking you.”

Bilbo opened his mouth, but Thorin held up one palm. “We have not the time for this, Master Baggins. You have a brave heart. None can fault that.” A bit guiltily, “Or _should._ I would grant you a place beside us upon the field, but if the future hinges so tightly…”

“We make our future,” Bilbo interrupted bluntly, his hand upon Sting’s hilt. “Is that not what you said?”

Staring into those earnest brown eyes, he could not deny him. With a sigh, “Very well. You remain with us to the end.” A handful of dwarves dared look askance of him, but Thorin ignored them. In Bilbo’s shoes, he’d wish the same consideration. The same chance to defend friends. 

The hobbit’s chin lifted. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me. Survive. Remain close to the Company and survive.” He only hoped that this time, Bilbo would not intervene when Azog squared off with him.

“Aleks,” Thorin began, again noting the satyr’s exhaustion. What had occurred down here to take such a toll upon him?

Aleks’s gaze flicked his way as he accepted his strange weapon from Dwalin, followed by his travel-stained bag. “Don’t try it,” Aleks said when he noted Thorin’s gaze. “I’m not hiding.” The lad marched into his space, his jaw set. “I’m covering you. You can moan all you like. Banish me, yell at me, I’m not budging. You are _my_ king, and I’m not letting you die.”

And here he’d believed the lad likely not to address him for a year at best. Thorin’s chest tightened as he recalled his harsh words of denouncement to the boy. _No, not boy,_ he thought. Aleks had crossed that threshold somewhere beneath the dark boughs of Mirkwood. 

“We had no time to make a blind,” Gloin informed their naiad. 

Aleks tore his gaze from Thorin and quirked a half-smile. “Of course not. That’d be too easy,” he said in a dry tone. “Since when have we ever done things the easy way?”

Gloin’s beard split with a wide grin. “Aye, laddie. That is the truth.”

Aleks turned to him and executed a short bow. “My king.” Without another word, he spun on one heel and jogged back towards Erebor’s open maw, a small fox racing at his heels. As he passed Bombur, Aleks lifted one hand as if expecting something as they neared. 

Bombur lifted his hand in mimicry, and Aleks smacked it. The cook then joined them with a bemused expression on his round face. “A strange people, those naiads.”

_Aye._ Without further words spoken, Thorin picked up the pace, leading his dwarves towards the front lines of battle. Bifur and Bofur would catch up with them, he didn’t doubt. 

The sun blinked as a massive shadow passed overhead. Thorin froze, his head craning back as a large body winged over them, the wind it generated almost knocking them from their feet. “No,” he whispered, his gaze locked upon the dragon. He saw Smaug dive low, winging over the elven armies arrayed across the field. The beast dredged claws through their midst, plowing through a line of them as if they were naught but toys. 

Smaug wheeled towards the direction of the camp shared by men and elves. Fire poured from his mouth.

OoOoOo

Ori and Nori raced through Erebor’s halls, old mining carts shoved before them. They stripped the armory of every scrap of rusted weaponry to be found, then tore boards from the very walls.

Ori eyed the bent nails protruding from the planks with satisfaction. Those, he decided, would do some damage to the orcs outside their gates. The bigger problem, though… “These things won’t be doing a thing to the dragon,” Ori grunted as he threw his weight against his cart to get it moving towards the eastern tower. 

“Aye, fair enough,” Nori said in return, groaning with his own efforts. “Keep the beast distracted and pray Aleks is right about the man, Bard.”

They parted at the junction above the Fourth Hall, each rushing towards a tower.

OoOoOo

“Adar.”

Thranduil followed his son’s gaze and lifted his eyes. The sky to their south had turned dark, filling with veritable clouds of bats. _Well played, my nemesis. Well played, indeed._

“Take cover!” a voice hollered. 

His elk spun upon one heel at his command, turning him to face the Lonely Mountain. Legolas twisted at the waist and did a double-take. Thranduil inhaled. 

Smaug bore down upon them, wings spread and front talons extended. The dragon barreled through his troops, cutting through them and tossing elves aside by the dozens. Thranduil watched with blazing eyes, calming his stag with one hand to his neck. Smaug’s path carried him through the eastern flank of his army, pointing him towards the camp. 

Thranduil’s face hardened. So. Smaug aimed for their weakest members. His hands tightened about his weapons. 

“We must do something,” Legolas said in horror.

“We have no weapon that would touch him,” the Elvenking said coolly. “We must fight the battles we can win, _ion nin.”_

Blazing blue eyes turned to him. “We leave him?”

Holding his son’s glare, he responded like a whiplash, “Think, Prince. Those who flee camp have been cut off by the orcs. They require safe passage through the entirety of the orc army to reach their destination.” More kindly, “We cannot halt Smaug, but we can provide a path to flee for those who survive. What would you have me do?”

Without another word to his son, he shouted orders to his troops, commanding them to resume their efforts to form a wedge, cutting through the sea of orcs before them.

OoOoOo

“Look!” one of his elves cried out.

Lord Uiron lifted his eyes and ground his teeth together. Spitting every epithet in his vast repertoire, he wheeled his steed about in a tight circle. “Tighten the line,” he shouted before again kicking his horse into a forward trot. 

They stood no chance against a cursed _dragon._ Bad enough the orcs had succeeded in cutting them off from the rest of the Elvenking’s army and Erebor. Scanning above the foaming mass of orcs, Uiron could see his king’s pennant and track its progress towards them. Pride touched him - his king came for them. _We must needs only carve a path to him,_ he thought with grim determination. What was that expression he'd heard Prince Legolas bandy about of late? Ah, yes. _No problem._

The distance between the camp’s refugees and the larger body of orcs battling the Elvenking’s army closed. Uiron quickened the pace. They must breach the orc lines before the dragon reached them. He suspected the dragon would care nothing about taking out orcs alongside men and elves, but by inserting their group among their foe, any damage Smaug dealt would be diluted by the orcs’ superior numbers. Inclusion of Smaug in their attack, he vowed, would cost the enemy dearly. 

_“Ortheritham hain!”_ he shouted to his squad, lifting one sword over his head, ordering the forward charge. His brave ellyn followed as he’d known they would. Behind, their vulnerable charges followed with fearful cries: women and children, most of them, with healers and the wounded making up the rest of their component. Uiron spared a hope that Lord Bard’s men were fending off the rearmost orc forces successfully. He held their lives in his hands, for Bard protected the windlance.

_Eru, let it save us._

“Lord Uiron?” one of his ellyn questioned, his face white with fear.

_Well should he be._ Harried from behind, about to slam into a force ten times the size of the Elvenking’s mustered army? Yes, well should they all be frightened, for a number of them were sure to enter the Halls of Mandos this day. 

“Forward,” Uiron commanded. “By Eru, do not falter!” 

The orcs turned to face them just a breath before their horses plowed into their midst. Uiron braced his pike against his left shoulder and slashed opposite with a sword. His horse shrilled and screamed as it faltered, gouged by orcish weapons. 

Uiron kicked free of his saddle and leaped over the horse’s dying body. He dodged multiple strikes, body twisting this way and that as he wielded both weapons. The pike lodged into something. He let it go without pause, slicing at a snarling orc, never still. _“Hain dago!”_ he roared. 

Twenty four elves in armor of gold had separated from the main body of refugees to follow him in this mad attempt to create a path to safety. 

Twenty four elves were there when Smaug opened his mouth and poured down fire from above.

OoOoOo

Thranduil’s forces filled the space Smaug’s fire had cleared for them, riding roughshod over smoking orc bodies. Sainor remained close by his side, both of them lashing out at any surviving orcs in their path. At their backs and sides, the dark green of his Royal Guards followed.

Orcish blood flowed as Thranduil and his escorts passed. These orcs would not live to threaten an elf again. 

The dragon wheeled around for another pass. 

“Talvon!” The Elven Guardsman’s head whipped around at Thranduil’s barked summons. “Grab ten ellyn, any, and get our healers to Erebor. Now.”

The warrior bobbed his head, shouting names as he grabbed Healer Miwon and hauled him behind him on his horse. Belegon, Thranduil noted, had his previously requested healer riding behind him already. Thranduil eyed all of the women and children huddled together before him, his steed prancing with ill-contained panic. Little did he like the decision he’d made, but their success would depend upon the healers. Should the Free Peoples’ forces lose this day, none of these poorly fed souls would survive it.

A thump from the mountain preceded the dragon’s cry. Smaug back-winged, hissing and snarling as projectiles rained down upon him and the orcs below. 

Thranduil permitted himself a small, cold smile. _Well done,_ he thought to the unknown ally wielding the mangonel. Scrap metal, nails and furniture all peppered the ground, some pieces sharp enough to seriously wound the orcs they showered. 

“Thieves!” Smaug bellowed, his attention now firmly fixed upon the source of the attack. He flapped his wings for altitude and dodged a piece of masonry shot at him from another direction. “You dare?” 

Thranduil forced his attention from the dragon. The dwarves manning those siege weapons had likely signed their own death warrants. He could do nothing but use the time they had provided. 

The orcs recovered their nerve and charged over the smoking corpses of their fellows. Thranduil commanded his forces to split and flow around the refugees, utterly enveloping them. He and Sainor joined fray in fending off the orcs while Legolas directed efforts to secure their vulnerable charges and get them moved to Erebor. 

Far too few of Uiron’s ellyn remained. Thranduil’s jaw clenched at the loss. 

Wheeling about, he goaded his elk into a trot, commanding his force to halve, ripping a path through the orc army where none had existed. Through it, the survivors fled by foot or on horse and wagon. He waited only long enough to ensure his army’s two lines held before turning his attention elsewhere.

OoOoOo

Bilbo slipped the Ring upon his finger without word. The fighting had grown heavy almost immediately. He’d heard Daphne’s warnings, he really had, but Thorin and his dwarves meant the world to him. He should not be able to live with himself if he cowered within the dubious safety of Erebor’s walls while they fought for their lives.

He’d given his word. He’d see their home restored to them. And so, invisible to friend and foe alike, he shadowed the Company, Sting unsheathed in one fist. He’d protect these dwarves, particularly Thorin, as best he could.

OoOoOo

As the wall of flame seared through the front line of elves, incinerating Lord Uiron and his brave warriors, Bard hollered, “Dugan! Take over here.”

The older, black-haired man covered him as Bard stepped back from the heat of battle, the elf at his side. Bard raced through the mass of Lake-town’s refugees to the two-wheeled cart hooked up to one of the elves’ fine horses. It was one of only three carts in their train for good reason: it bore the windlance. The other two carried the lame and pregnant.

“Bain,” he shouted, climbing up onto the cart. 

“Are we going to die, Papa?” Tilda asked. His daughter walked beside the cart, her sister Sigrid at her side with one arm thrown over Tilda’s shoulders. 

“Not today, my love,” he said, accepting the Black Arrow from his son and loading it into the windlance.

Just then, a weapon from within Erebor launched a mass of projectiles at the dragon. Smaug roared in fury and winged away. 

Bard’s fingers clamped down painfully around the windlance. The dragon had a weak spot, one he knew well from tales passed down from his grandfather. Little good such knowledge did when the dragon was out of range. He shared a look of helpless frustration with Guard Lannor. 

“Forward!” At the ringing cry, elf and man twisted to see the wizard galloping through their lines. “The path is cleared. To Erebor!” Gandalf cried.

Bard took up the cry, leaping back down from the cart. Together with his men and the guard, he hurried their people onward through the open path the elves had sacrificed to create for them. 

Smaug would live a bit longer.

OoOoOo

My first glimpse of the First Hall stopped me in my tracks. The carpet of debris and dirt covering the stone floor, I’d expected, but the rest… 

“Bofur,” I breathed. The First Hall was so huge it rivaled the movie depiction of Dwarrowdelf in size. Actually, the movie had nothing on this place. 

Bofur beamed at me and urged me onward, his boots echoing hollowly. “Welcome to our _simple_ home, my lass,” he said. “Welcome to Erebor.” 

Simple. Yeah, right. “Where is the light coming from?” I asked as I twisted to look around with wide-eyed wonder. I almost tripped over my own feet, but Bofur’s grip upon my elbow kept me upright. 

We passed between two of a series of smooth columns spaced evenly like soldiers lined up in formation. There had to be literally hundreds of them. Eyeing the nearest column, I gaped. It would take twenty dwarves (my best guess) with hands extended to circle its girth. It was _that_ big. And when I looked up, the ceiling, illuminated by that same hazy light, was a wondrous mosaic-like pattern done in metals and gems. 

“Sunlight,” Bofur explained. “And mirrors.” 

_Like the old Egyptian mirror trick,_ I thought absently, impressed. Had the dwarves really chiseled channels for the light to be spread through the whole mountain? A part of me said no way – such an undertaking would take forever. But looking around, I had to reconsider. Dwarves. A new appreciation for their craftsmanship and tenacity rose within me. 

Bifur appeared on the lowest of a series of landings above us along the hall’s western wall. Charging down a side stairwell, he almost fell in his haste. His hair looked wilder than ever, and the sharp edge of his boar spear jutted above both his shoulder and head. Metal armor filled his arms. Armor for Bofur, I presumed. 

Bofur turned, his gaze briefly landing upon the two elves a step behind me. Then, his gaze met mine, intent. He tugged on that lock of hair, his eyes warm. “You heard the king, my lass. You stay in here, aye? The infirmary will be right down that hallway there,” Bofur said, pointing towards a hall branching off to the left. “And the Third Hall is over there. It is far enough to give the uninjured refugees and their families a measure of safety.” 

I nodded dutifully. 

Bofur gathered my injured hands, frowning. For myself, I’d avoided looking at them. They throbbed and burned like I’d blanched them in boiling water. Bofur’s hand dipped into his coat and returned with a white swathe of fabric in its grasp. Tearing it in two, he began wrapping my hands as he stared down at me with troubled eyes. “I’m asking you to remain near Oin,” he said as he was finishing the right hand and moving on to the left. “For my own peace of mind, lass, I’m needing you to stay out of trouble.” 

“I have no intention of stepping foot from this mountain, believe you me,” I told him with heartfelt sincerity. 

He grunted, knotting the second bandage, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand through the fabric. He smiled suddenly, fingering the bracelet with clear satisfaction. 

Bifur arrived, dumping a pile of armor at his cousin’s feet. With a sigh, Bofur released my hands and started to shuck his thick coat. 

I could not hold back any longer. He was going to _war._ I closed the gap between us, uncaring of the audience. I wrapped my arms tight around his chest and tucked my head beneath his chin before he knew what I was about. 

He responded instantly, halting his actions and hugging me tight, a low chuckle rumbling up through his chest. “Like clover to a bee, I am,” Bofur joked happily. “You ever need advice about the ladies, Cousin, my door is open.” 

I would have pinched him but for my bandaged fingers. “Ladies?” I warned. 

His hand rubbed my back. “Only one lady I’m interested in,” he reassured. 

“Please be careful,” I whispered. “Please, Bofur.” 

His whiskers tickled the skin of my cheek as he answered in my ear, “I’ll take all care, my Daphne. Of that, you can be certain.” 

I breathed deeply, memorizing his scent and the feel of him in my arms. It was funny, but I’d never seen him in anything but full travel gear, loaded down with heavy coat and layers upon layers of clothes. It wasn’t his body that had attracted me, nor his face, though it was expressive and dear to me. 

I found myself curious, blushing madly at the sudden pique of interest. The hard chest beneath my hands and arms, the spread of his shoulders – I was very aware of the masculine body pressed to mine in that moment. As always, I had great timing. 

“Lady,” an elf said warningly. It wasn’t Brethil’s voice, so I mentally attributed it to the darker-haired guard. “Need I remind you of your king’s decree? You are forbidden this dwarf’s company.” 

My arms tightened. Guilt flared. I didn’t want to disobey Thranduil, but I wouldn’t budge. This might be my last moment with Bofur, and I wasn’t losing it. Not for anything. 

“A decree?” Bofur echoed, dropping a kiss upon my brow, his mustache feathering across the delicate skin there. “You know, Bifur, I do recall such a thing, now that he speaks of it.” I snickered silently at his lively voice. He followed it up in a confused voice, “I’m not thinking these elves know the meanings of their own words.” 

“Excuse me?” the elf objected. 

“Aye, what else is a dwarf to think when you deliver the lass right to my doorstep?” 

Bifur chuckled and said something in Khuzdul to which Bofur nodded and squeezed me tighter, pulling me off my feet. Then with regret, he released me and allowed his brother to assist him into his gear. 

I watched, bandaged fingers attempting to knot together as the chain mail went over his head. Next came a leather hauberk (at least, I thought that was what it was called), sword, and a pick ax. Bofur hefted that with particular satisfaction. 

Bifur dipped his head and said something in farewell in Khuzdul to me. I smiled in return. Bofur hesitated. “Stay with Oin,” he reiterated. “Aging he may be, but he’s a strong warrior. Will you do this for me, lass?” 

He really didn’t trust the elves, I thought, and he didn’t much seem to care that Brethil and his companion were totally insulted at his words. I nodded slowly. “As soon as the refugees are sorted, I’ll be in the infirmary with Oin. You have my word.” 

With that, his shoulders settled. “Stay safe, my lass.” Bofur turned to go. 

I almost grabbed him, but he was all metal and pointy edges. I settled for a panicked, “Wait.” 

“Lady,” Brethil burst in objection. The look I read upon his face said if I didn’t stop violating the king’s will now, he’d force me. 

“I’ll remind you,” Bofur said in a suddenly hard voice, Bifur bristling right beside him, “that you’re standing in _our_ kingdom, Royal Guard. ‘tis _Thorin_ who reigns here, not your Elvenking. Set one hand upon my lass, and I’ll see to it you lose it.” 

A short assessing look turned my way. 

“I love you,” I blurted, unable to hold back the words any longer. 

Oh, the smile that claimed him then. Smug. Cock-sure. I got one good look at it, then those lips descended to mine for a quick, hard kiss. “Aye,” he said affably, his nose rubbing mine. That close, I could not fail to see the teasing glint in his houseleek-colored eyes. “Clover to a bee,” he murmured. 

“Aye,” I drawled back as quietly. 

His grin flashed, and then his gaze returned to the elves. “The Elvenking’s decree does not bind _me._ Best you remember that.” Back to me. The dwarf’s cheek dimpled. “I’ll be seeing you soon…” A significant pause, his grin growing. _“Baby.”_

Bifur guffawed, but I instantly flashed back to the conversation at Jarel’s. I glowed as the message was received. 

With a wink, the cocky dwarf swaggered from the hall, a softly grinning Bifur at his side. I watched until they vanished among the elven army, headed towards – I could only assume – their king. 

“You should not have addressed him,” Brethil rebuked stiffly. “Much less touched him.” 

I let his words pass by like so much background noise. My feet refused to move, as if somehow standing there kept the moment from truly ending. Like I could hold on to Bofur and stave off any harm that might come his way just by remaining there. It was nonsensical idiocy, but it kept me rooted, staring out those gates for too long. 

Until something jerked me from my reverie. Something that slammed into the mountain with enough force to rain stone dust down upon my two guards and me. Lifting my eyes, I whispered, “Smaug.” 


	49. Battle of Five Armies?

### Chapter 48

Aleks lay sprawled on his belly, scope to his eye and a fox curled up beside him. The little animal had not budged from his side once, not even with the loud rapports issuing forth periodically from the rifle. Aleks had camped himself on the wide balcony he’d almost been chucked off earlier, confident he’d chosen the perfect place from which to protect the Durins. 

Muttering under his breath, he searched through the scope for any sign of his dwarves. His confidence had been premature and misplaced, it seemed, for he’d lost sight of Thorin, Fíli and Kíli not long after they joined the battle. _All_ of the dwarves were virtually swallowed up by the much taller and plentiful elves, and while the orcs were not necessarily taller, there were too freaking many of them, making Aleks’s task all the harder. _Needle in a haystack, anyone?_ He blew a stray lock of hair out of his sight, lips compressed into a flat line.

“C’mon, fellas,” he muttered. “Find a hill or something. There has to be some high ground.” He squeezed the trigger, firing upon an orc that seemed to be slashing downward with its weapon. Aleks figured his foe had to be a dwarf to be so small. That or a hobbit. Either way, yeah, _boom._

He quickly reloaded the Ruger, impatience gnawing at him. His sword work could only be labeled abysmal, but he still had this mad urge to be down there with his friends, standing with them shoulder-to-shoulder. Not up here where he couldn’t see a blasted thing.

All of a sudden, Smaug swung into view and slammed into the mountain. “Thief!” the dragon bellowed. “Dwarf thief!” Draconic claws dug into the rock face, ripping free big sections of rock. Boulder-sized chunks of mountain came tumbling down.

Ori. 

The satyr almost exploded from Aleks’s flesh as his temper fired. _No. Way._ His grip on the rifle tightened painfully. Aleks darted another look at the clashing armies stretched across the vista below him. He wasn’t doing anyone a bit of good here. He couldn’t even find the other dwarves, much less cover them. 

Snatching up his duffle, Aleks abandoned his post, charging from the balcony towards the tower stairs, the little fox right behind him.

OoOoOo

The rattle of the wooden cart beneath Bard’s feet sent fine tremors through the heavy iron of the windlance, threatening his aim. _Turn,_ he silently willed as he focused upon where the dragon tore at the Lonely Mountain.

“You say the dwarves were attempting to make additional Black Arrows?” Guard Lannor queried from the ground beside him. 

Bard spared him a short glance. “So Guard Belegon informed me last eve. Little good they do us,” he bit out as he returned to watching the dragon, “if we know not where they are.”

“Indeed,” the elf said in clipped tones. 

_Turn,_ Bard through once more, frustration and fear mixing in his belly. So long as the cursed dragon’s chest was to the mountain, Bard could not risk a shot. He had one chance, _one,_ to kill the beast. The chest – he had to pierce the chest where Smaug’s armored plating lacked one vital scale. 

His cart jolted to a halt. Bard’s eyes left his target, rushing to the people fleeing ahead of him. Or the people who _should_ be fleeing before him, rather. 

“They cannot stand here,” Lannor said with growing alarm. 

No, they couldn’t. Consumed with terror for the dragon attacking the mountain, his people had halted their flight to Erebor, stopping in the middle of a battlefield rather than risk nearing the monstrously huge beast clinging to a perch hundreds of feet overhead. 

Disaster. What did they hope to do, flee back through the orc lines? “Bain!” His son hurried to him, and Bard pressed him towards the windlance. “If you see a shot, take it,” he ordered him with a pointed finger. 

“Yes, Papa.” His son swallowed, but he took hold of the weapon and aimed it at the dragon. 

Bard forced his way through the throng of humanity, Lannor at his side. “Dugan!” he bellowed when he reached the front of the mob. 

The brawny blacksmith turned to him, brows pinched above his broad nose and sweat glistening on his face. 

“Get the women and children inside.” 

Objections filled the air and shrill refusals from many of the women. Dugan eyed the dragon before returning to him. “The dragon--”

“We cannot remain here. Already, the elves spend their lives to protect us. There is nowhere to retreat. The orcs have us cut off from all sides.” Bard stared hard at those most vocal in their objections. “We stay here and die, or we run for Erebor.”

A few of the Master’s former guardsmen shuffled from the crowd. “We’ll get them moving, Lord Bard,” one said. From the condition of the guard’s attire, he’d fought in the battle for Lake-town. Not a deserter, this one. 

“Your name?” Bard inquired.

“Geffin, my lord.”

Bard nodded shortly. “Get them moving, Geffin. The longer we remain here, the more likely the dragon decides to take advantage of our indecision.”

More former-guardsmen materialized at Geffin’s call. Together, they began to shout orders and slowly, the mass of humanity moved forward. Fear drove them. Now that the decision was made, it seemed many wanted the perilous trek beneath the dragon’s position over with as quickly as possible. The dragon had not shifted from his location, but how long would that last?

Bard’s gaze lifted to the mountain’s face. 

“Come,” Guard Lannor said. 

Bard tore his eyes from Smaug and raced back towards his family. Breaking through the last of his people, he called, “Bain.” Relief lit up his son’s face as Bard vaulted into the cart. “Take your sisters and get inside that mountain, you hear?”

“Yes, sir.” Bain leaped from the cart and quickly urged Tilda and Sigrid into a jog with a last backward glance over his shoulder at his father. Bard spotted the ferryman’s wife intercepting the group and urging his daughters onward.

 _Keep them safe,_ he prayed, turning from them.

Once again, he lined up the windlance, aiming for the dragon.

OoOoOo

Thranduil’s team of healers arrived first, including… “Belegon,” I about cried, hiking up my skirts to run to his horse.

The blond elf’s head whipped in my direction as his horse clip-clopped into Erebor. Behind him perched another elf, a female in robes that I recognized from among Thranduil’s healers. “Lady Hwinneth,” he greeted not unkindly but clearly pressed for time. Black streaks smudged his golden uniform and the sword he held loose at his side. His blue eyes swiftly moved over me, assessing for damage. “The infirmary?”

Right. “Go all the way to the rear of this hall,” I told him, loping at his side as I hurried through the directions. “Take the hallway on the left. The infirmary is the fourth room on your right.”

He spurred his steed with a short nod. A dozen or so of the Elven Guard raced right behind him, all mounted and bearing a healer. 

Hugging my arms gingerly, I again faced the battlefield outside. Minutes ticked by, dominated by the thunder of war. The frightening noises poured in freely through the open gates and echoed throughout the hall. Debris rained down from above more than once, proof that Smaug was still up there somewhere. I tried not to think, tried not to see what was happening clearly outside these walls, but I could not tear my eyes away. Bofur was out there. Bilbo, Thorin, and Thranduil. 

As if by some signal, a veritable avalanche of freaked-out women and children as well as armed men ran inside. The horses in the mix were spooked, half-rearing with the whites of their eyes showing. 

“To the Third Hall!” I tried to yell above the furor, waving them on, but few heeded me. Everyone seemed bent upon stopping _right there_ to see if their loved ones had survived their journey. With still more people pressing in from behind, it was chaos. 

More debris rained down outside the gates, a fine river of silt and dust. Smaug didn’t materialize in our midst, but that was little comfort. Whatever he was doing, the earth shook in response. 

“Injured to the infirmary!” I called again, waving arms in the correct direction. “Everyone else to the Third Hall!” 

A break appeared as some of the people moved off as directed, and I found myself face-to-face with Bain and his sisters. The young man broke into a smile. “Our dwarf lady,” he said. 

I refrained from hugging him, but only just. With what was happening outside, I felt compelled to hug anyone even slightly familiar to me, afraid I’d not see them again. Instead, I opted to swipe a loose lock of hair out of my face and dredged up a shaky smile for him. “Bain.” 

“How can I help?” he asked, looking around. Behind him, Hydi gave me a wan smile while Freija held Josan to her, her face tight with fear. 

“Can you get these people organized?” I almost begged. “Those not injured are going to the Third Hall,” I told him, pointing. “And the injured need to go down that hallway to the infirmary.” I indicated in the opposite direction. “Can you spread the word?” 

Bain nodded shortly. In a parade-ground voice, he soon had people clearing the hall and headed where they needed to go. Hydi pressed my arm as she passed. Freija hugged me briefly, laughing tearfully at the sling of chipmunks I carried, and Josan placed a sweet kiss upon my cheek. I lost sight of them soon after in the crush of people. 

Freed from that duty, my attention turned to triage. I didn’t want to do it, did _not_ want to relive Lake-town, but what else could I do that would help? Answer: nothing. 

The wounded from that previous battle arrived first, many still in dire straights and familiar to me. I loped beside stretchers that the men of Lake-town carried, hands pressing down over wounds that had torn open in their flight to safety. 

Blood again. There was so much of it. Fleeting worries of disease reared their heads – how not with my raw hands combined with the crimson stains demanding attention? But this was no hospital. There would be no latex gloves this day. I did what I had to, losing the bandages. There was no way to keep them dry, and I’d need to wash my hands between patients to avoid cross-contamination. 

Once each patient was with the healers, back I returned, guards in tow, to do the same for another. And another. 

The freshly maimed began to trickle in. In the minutes that followed, I focused upon only what was in front of me. That narrowing of awareness helped, but there was no way to halt the sickening horror that began to seep into my bones. Before Lake-town, I’d never imagined how bad war could be. Now, I wanted only to forget it. The worst, most gruesome movies failed to do it justice. 

War was a never-ending nightmare.

OoOoOo

_Smack!_

Aleks slammed into Ori with painful impact. They both went tumbling down the stairs Aleks had been racing up a split-second before. The two crashed onto the landing with enough force to drive the air from Aleks’s lungs.

He lay there on his back for a second. “Remind me…to thank Thorin…for this lovely adventure,” he panted, craning his head to the side to check on Ori.

Ori’s brows climbed high, then he grinned, bursting into laughter. “Regret joining us, have you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Aleks said with a grunt, hoisting himself to a seat. Then, his head jerked up as a huge concussion rocked the tower, the source far overhead. Reverberations shook through the stone surface underneath him. 

“What was that?” he asked in a suddenly squeaky voice. He peered up the central, open shaft formed by the stacking stairwell, his eyes widening as all light vanished from above. More crashing sounds followed, and the fox whimpered, hugging his side.

Another tremendous crash echoed down the stairwell shaft, almost deafening in its intensity. One look, and he and Ori jumped to their feet in unison, almost colliding again in their haste to flee. Ori beat him to the punch by a panicked heartbeat. Aleks scooped up the fox on the run and bolted after him. 

Aleks had no idea what the dragon was doing, but he felt its effects through the shaking of the stone stairs underfoot. “How is this possible?” he shouted above the din. How could a dragon tear apart a bloody _mountain?_

“Are you daft?” Ori hollered back in disbelief.

“How?” Aleks reiterated. “How is he doing anything this destructive? The tower is solid _stone.”_

“Dragon, Aleks. _Dragon!”_ Ori rejoined with equal volume and panic, all the while flying around the corners of the stairwell. 

“We don’t have dragons on Earth,” Aleks snarled. “But if we did, I’m sure they’d have the decency to _not_ be able to tear through rock!”

Another concussion preceded a veritable avalanche of rocks that rained down the central shaft like a deadly, chunky waterfall. Chalky dust and fine particles plumed the air, turning Ori into a hazy shadow. Aleks coughed, his tongue and mouth tasting of powdery clay. Whipping the fabric of his shirt over the fox’s head to spare the little guy’s lungs, Aleks felt a new kind of panic blossom in the back of his mind. They were going to get trapped in this stairwell. There was only one exit below them. One. If debris covered it…

He almost mowed down Ori with a sudden spurt of speed. He propelled the dwarf faster with one hand, his heart yammering. Around and around the turns they raced, speeding around corners as fast as they could. 

A series of rhythmic, deafening crashes began to echo through the tower’s belly. Aleks’s eyes flicked upward. At first, he was at a loss to explain the deeply felt sounds. The fox was quicker, wriggling from his arms and zooming down the stairs like his tail was on fire. Then, like a light bulb going off, it hit Aleks: _the stairs are collapsing._ Smaug must have dumped enough rock on them that they were cracking from their supports, buckling one section at a time. With each failed section, the weight increased, speeding up the process. 

If he’d been running like mad before, he now fairly flew, his legs pedaling out of control. Aleks began to hyperventilate. _Almost there._ Around another corner. _Faster, faster._

They reached the bottom landing and burst through the archway, gasping for breath and covered in fine gray dust. Aleks couldn’t stop shaking, every nerve sizzling at the near miss. He screamed wordlessly, driven to relieve the tension arcing through him. 

Ori nodded back, hands to knees and eyes wide. 

A few paces away, the fox stood, body poised to flee. A series of urgent yips issued from his muzzle. Aleks found a smile. The little dude was iron gray but for a swoosh of red where he must have licked his muzzle clean. 

The last few slabs of stairs gave way, smashing down and breaking apart. Fine, sand-like particles followed in their wake, filling the base of the tower’s belly with a rushing noise. In less than a minute, all Aleks could see through the door’s aperture was a mass of rubble. 

Aleks’s knees gave out and he fell to a seat. _Too close,_ his pounding heart decreed. _Way too close._ The fox flat-out freaked and dashed down the hall. “Wait!” Aleks called, then he coughed violently as stone particles filled his lungs. 

Aleks’s heart froze mid-beat. If Smaug had just finished demolishing this tower, where was he headed next?

_Nori._

OoOoOo

Bofur parried the thrust of an orcish spear with his pickax while lashing out with his short sword aimed low. Shoulder-to-shoulder with his king, he was, in the hottest part of the battle. Bifur had vanished from view, trailing after Fíli when the fighting had separated heir from king. Bombur swung a mace he’d obtained from Erebor’s armory with one hand and a rusted shield in the other, his wide girth planted by Kíli’s side.

“I’m not seeing that filth, Azog,” Gloin growled from Bofur’s left. 

“You won’t see that coward until he feels he has the advantage,” Thorin said as he swung Orcrist in an arc, taking down two orcs at once. 

That was what Bofur feared. Where was Aleks? He’d seen no orcs felled by his strange _rifle_ in some time now. Craning his neck about, he blanched, for there was Smaug, climbing down the side of the Lonely Mountain and headed right for the gates.

 _Mahal._ Everything in him rose up in denial. _My Daphne._ He actually took one step before reason returned. He could not leave. His duty demanded he remain by his king’s side to the end. Even should he break all bonds and run to the mountain, he’d not reach her in time to change anything. The outcome would be decided ere he arrived. “Daphne,” he whispered. His hand spasmed around his pickax. 

_Aleks will keep her safe._ He had no trust left for elves, but the satyr, aye, he trusted. Bofur took a deep, unsteady breath and forced his gaze from Erebor. His lass would be well. Smaug would destroy all in his path, but there were places – aye, he reminded himself, there were - that Smaug could not reach. Places that would keep the souls inside Erebor alive until the combined armies outside could coax the beastie from the mountain. Somehow. 

“Bofur!” 

Orcrist flashed out, saving Bofur’s neck from a severing. The orcish sword had reached far too close for Bofur’s comfort. 

Thorin flashed him a short, assessing look as Bofur shook himself, returning to the fight. He’d get his fool self killed if he didn’t get his mind back on the fight before him. 

_Aleks will protect my lass,_ he assured himself. All would be well. He refused to consider otherwise. And Bofur had other lives here relying upon him, now, didn’t he? Aye. Firming his shoulders, with a big inhale, Bofur returned to the battle around him. 

He never did quite manage to banish the cold knot of ice that took up residence in his belly.

OoOoOo

Bard followed the dragon’s progress down the mountain, the windlance loaded and ready. As before, he could not get a shot. No matter how the dragon moved, that chink in his armor remained obscured by topography and body movements. Down and down the dragon climbed, and Bard’s desperation and frustration grew in tandem. His people were in that mountain. His children. If he did not act, many were going to die before his eyes in bare minutes.

He abandoned the windlance, vaulting off the cart and onto the horse harnessed to it. One, two, three slashes with his knife severed the leather straps leashing horse to cart.

“Lord Bard,” Guard Lannor said, his tone a demand for explanation. 

One Bard had no time to give. He kicked the horse into a gallop.

OoOoOo

Lannor’s body tensed as his charge raced from him.

There was naught to do. He could not hope to match a running horse. Duty burned like a torch, compelling him to attempt the impossible, but pragmatism said he had a new duty, one abdicated by Lord Bard.

His gaze turned to the dragon and the windlance. No matter what, the dragon could not be allowed to destroy the weapon, and given his actions when razing Lake-town, Smaug would do just that if he saw it. 

Captain Tauriel ordered the ellyn closest to the gates to disperse, fleeing from the location, and the part of Lannor that wished to survive was tempted to abandon his post to join them. 

It was a fleeting temptation, quickly smothered. 

Lannor set his shoulder to the cart and heaved. The nearest of Erebor’s colossal doors was a scant handful of meters away. He had to get the cart between it and the jutting finger of mountain beside it. He had to hide the windlance. 

For his king. For all those fighting the orcs. 

For dead Edenor’s honor.

OoOoOo

_So many._ Every time I lifted my eyes from the man before me, I was struck with a sense of helplessness. How could we hope to save them all? The horrible answer: we couldn’t. Too many had been injured by both dragon fire and orcs in the flight to Erebor, so much so that Oin had ordered me to treat those I could instead of just aiding the team of healers. Miwon had echoed the dwarf, though not without compassion.

 _Put on your big girl pants._ And so, I found myself back in the same role as I’d held in Lake-town, trying to save men and elves who seemed determined to bleed and die on me.

OoOoOo

Aleks catapulted around a corner and down yet another stairwell, lungs burning with effort. He’d been running after Ori towards Nori’s tower when his satyr senses had detected something really big and really malevolent heading _down_ the mountain. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that meant. Smaug was headed for Erebor’s front door.

A door they’d conveniently left wide open for him. All those people – they’d fled into Erebor for safety. Now, they were lined up like a smorgasbord for Smaug’s dining pleasure…and would the dragon ever enjoy it with the beef he had against them all.

 _Daph?_

He loaded the Ruger on the run, steeling his nerves. His connection with his twin was not restored, but the relationship was, and the satyr side of him was going wild, demanding he find and protect his sister. It was all he could do to stay in his human skin, and that was only because boots gave better traction when running through stone passageways than hooves. Aleks had a feeling speed was going to be of the essence real soon now. 

_Daphne!_

With a growl, he ditched that avenue and instead sought the chipmunks. The female he found asleep, but Alvin perked up when he felt Aleks’s mental touch. Aleks instantly prodded the little animal to make like he was really, really agitated. The chipmunk squeaked and climbed out of a sling she must have made for them. Using claws to grasp fabric, it climbed right up into her face. 

Daphne shot the animal an impatient, stressed look, and Aleks quickly noted why: she wore blood. It covered her damaged hands, smeared her clothes and splattered one cheek. Through the chipmunk’s eyes, he scanned the room, appalled at what he saw. He’d seen men injured and killed at Lake-town, but this…this was worse. Like all the ugliest parts of battle were concentrated in one place. 

_Oh, Daph, you don’t belong in this._

When she returned to her patient, Aleks squeaked in protest, the chipmunk’s paws patting her unsoiled cheek in a demand for attention. 

Another harried look, then her gaze sharpened. “Aleks?”

He nodded the chipmunk’s head, then almost brained himself upon a low overhang, more focused upon the animal than where he was going. Aleks snorted. He couldn’t believe it. His hand reached up to where the ceiling sharply dropped over a narrow passageway to his left. For the first time in his life, he was too tall. Oh, the irony. 

Bending low, he kept going, hoping his sense of direction remained true. Maybe trying for a shortcut now was a bit reckless, but…yeah, Smaug. 

He set the chipmunk to feigning hiding, repeating the actions over and over again of cowering, hoping she’d get the message.

“Orcs?” she asked with big eyes.

As if. The chipmunk’s head turned side to side, _no._

“Tell me it isn’t Smaug,” she whispered, face bleaching of all color. 

Nope, couldn’t do that, either. He nodded the chipmunk’s head in a slow _yes._

“Heaven help us,” she whispered. Aleks lost sight of her as she shoved the chipmunk back into its sling with sticky hands. He heard her call for an elf as she took off running. The chipmunk dug its claws into the fabric as his world began to bounce. 

Aleks burst onto a landing overlooking the First Hall and began to shout. “Dragon! _Dragon!”_ Faces craned upwards, one familiar face catching his eye. “Bain!” Aleks called down. “Get these people out of here. Smaug’s coming!” 

Pandemonium. The souls who had been loitering on the floor below scattered in all directions. Bain tried to direct them towards the Third Hall – Aleks heard the destination clearly – but some seemed too blindly freaked to do more than flee through the closest exit. Aleks shouted, echoing Bain’s commands and stabbing one finger in the right direction. A sense of helplessness overcame him. They weren’t listening.

Bard galloped through Erebor’s gates, bellowing in a parade-ground voice. “Dragon!” 

His son tried to fight his way to his side, but the stampeding people disallowed it. Willy-nilly, the kid was dragged along in their wake, vanishing down a passageway Aleks wasn’t familiar with. No knowing where those people were going to wind up. 

“Bard!” he said, cupping hands around his mouth. Then with all his strength, _“Bard!”_

The man’s head whipped around, found him.

“Get them to the Third Hall!” Aleks screamed so loud his lungs and throat ached. 

“This way, my lord!” a guardsman shouted from the opposite end of the massive hall.

Bard nodded and began to shout commands of his own.

That was when Smaug stomped into the room.

OoOoOo

“Brethil,” I shouted. Then with a bite, “Brethil!”

The auburn-haired elf drew nearer. 

No more arguing. The two elves could pontificate about their duty to protect me until the cows came home – if Smaug didn’t eat them, too – but he was going to help me and the people suffering all around us. I grabbed his hands and shoved them to the torso of the clawed-up elleth I was tending. Her lower belly and upper thigh were a mess. Probably some warg’s handiwork. “Press here,” I commanded him.

“Lady,” he objected.

I threw him a harried, begging look. “For mercy’s sake, Brethil, _do it.”_

I didn’t wait for agreement. I yanked on Ionor’s sleeve as I bolted past him, knowing he’d follow. My feet carried me over cots and around healers. Oin. I had to reach Oin. Inside my head, all I could hear was my own pitiful whimpers. I’d had one brush with Smaug, and I really, really wasn’t looking forward to a second. 

“What is this about?” Ionor demanded. 

“Smaug. On his way,” I managed. We were going to have a front row seat, reliving Erebor’s fall to a dragon in bright Technicolor. A chill pebbled my flesh - Smaug was probably _angrier_ this time around than the first. My panic gained claws and a barbed tail at the thought.

At my disclosure, every elf in the room straightened, eyes panning my way. The men and Oin were oblivious though a few men picked up on the elves’ sudden alarm. I ran right to where Oin stood over an injured teenager – one, I realized with an inner moan, I recognized from the raid upon the Master’s cellar with Bain. 

“Oin,” I said in a rush.

He spared me a short, hard look. Then his expression gentled. “Where is the fire, lass?”

“Smaug’s coming,” I interrupted, bouncing up and down on my toes with all the panic frosting my bones. “Aleks is sure of it.” 

The silence spread, encompassing men, too. 

My sticky, throbbing fingers tried to twine together. “So maybe we should move people to someplace…safer?” I broached. Was there such a place to be found? 

Oin didn’t argue. He stared at me for one long minute, then nodded. “Alright, then. Ye elves, pick a patient. We are moving to the Old Keep. Hurry now.” He then leveled a look at Ionor from beneath bushy white brows. “We need someone to lead the people in the Third Hall to safety.”

“I’ll do it,” the idiot that was me said. There I was, nodding my head in tandem with my foot bobs, my mouth forming the words without thought. Then my brain caught up with that strand of cold logic, and I almost fainted. 

I wasn’t sure I could face Smaug again.

OoOoOo

The sky overhead dimmed. Thranduil spared one brief glance upward. The swarm of bats had arrived, filling the sky like a plague of locusts. The land darkened as the mass of them blotted out the sun, leaving the combatants below in an increasingly dusky twilight.

“Legolas!” 

His middle son glided around foes, his swords weaving and blocking two enemies. He met his gaze for a heartbeat, long enough to tell him he listened. 

“The goblins arrive. Do what you must to hold this position,” Thranduil ordered. 

Legolas nodded, continuing to cut down the orcs before him as he shouted commands to the troops around him. Legolas’s Royal Guard, Gwastaron, fought close by his charge’s side.

 _Good,_ Thranduil thought. The Elvenking goaded his elk into a run, knowing his own Royal Guards would keep pace. Together, they carved out a path through the orcs, their swords never still while around them, the unnatural night only deepened. 

The bats, having achieved their first aim, next turned their efforts in another direction: attacking. Small bodies dove down, claws and teeth tearing at any flesh exposed to the air. His elves, disciplined by centuries of training, continued to exchange blows with the orcs they fought, but he feared the men, untrained and lacking such a foundation, would not fare well. 

Thranduil scanned, taking in a wider view of the battle around him, surprised at what he found. The men had not returned. A small frown crossed his visage as his gaze turned to Erebor. Surely they were not _hiding._

“Smaug reclaims Erebor,” Sainor said just as Thranduil spotted the dragon’s hind end and tail disappearing through Erebor’s open gates. His guard whipped around to stab at a warg who surged above the nearest wall of orcs to take down an ellon in glittering gold. 

Thranduil stared at Erebor’s open maw. _Eru aid us._ There would be no ousting Smaug, not without an unacceptable loss of life. Movement from the corner of his eye – he lashed out without turning, impaling an orc attempting to cut down Sainor while the guard was otherwise occupied. Faces flashed through the Elvenking’s mind – Hwinneth, Miwon and others he knew to be inside that mountain. 

“What is your command, sire?” Sainor asked as he regained his side. 

Thranduil’s lips flattened. “Ionor is the senior officer beyond those gates. We have our task here. Until the orcs and goblins are vanquished, this burden is his,” he declared, hardening himself against the emotions threatening to erode his resolve. 

“The goblins tip the scales,” Sainor noted as the Elvenking’s visual sweep moved on. 

Thranduil’s jaw clenched spasmodically. _Indeed._ Five armies, he’d been told to expect. _Where, then, are the dwarves from the Iron Hills?_ Did Oakenshield not summon them? _Dwarves,_ he growled in disgust. _Ever undependable._

To the south, elves were hard pressed on three sides. A handful of trolls threatened to overwhelm them. With the addition of the goblin forces, their lines buckled. 

Thranduil lifted his voice, “Nadhoron, to the south!” 

His officer bobbed his head before shouting to his squad. The ellyn broke and reformed to face southward. As a unit, Nadhoron at their helm, they rushed towards the goblins. Thranduil kneed his elk to a lope along their right flank, Sainor beside him. 

“Take down the trolls,” Thranduil commanded. Making a beeline for the closest, he firmed his grip upon his weapons and charged right at the creature.

OoOoOo

_Aw, man._

Aleks watched as Smaug’s face – now pockmarked where the ammo had blown holes throughout one cheek – lit up. The dragon was clearly savoring the idea of dishing out some retribution.

He knew what he had to do, but he sure as snot didn’t relish the idea. _This is a stupid idea._ But if he didn’t do something, those people were going to die in large numbers. _Bard_ was going to die. 

_Where’s the stinking windlance?_ Dude, it had better not have been lost after all the effort he and Bofur went through to get the blasted thing.

The Ruger fitted against his shoulder, a familiar weight. Aleks peered through the scope. He’d have to be fast.

 _Daph?_

Smaug roared, the sound something out of _Jurassic Park._ Then that bone-chilling chuckle. People were screaming, running, and Smaug stomped after them, in no apparent hurry. He enjoyed terrorizing them. 

It ticked Aleks off. The satyr-side of his nature flared, giving him the courage to do the right thing. Aleks squeezed the trigger.

OoOoOo

Ionor, bless him, saved me from myself.

“You will not,” he thundered. “The king would not stand for it.” Then the smack down, “You swore to that dwarf you would remain with this… _Oin,”_ he said with distaste. “Are mortals always so lacking in honor?”

I flinched. One mention of Smaug, and I’d forgotten all about my promise. Even Brethil cast me a look of disapproval over his shoulder from where he tended the elleth. Guilt gnawed its way through me. My assurances to Bofur replayed in my mind as my eyes swept across the room. Who else was there, really? One of the injured? If they were capable of doing more than bleeding and dying, they’d be fighting the enemy outside.

“Is the dragon already inside?” Ionor asked, lips a white slash across his face. 

“I don’t know.”

He scowled down at me. “Then how do you know--?”

“Because Aleks sent a message through chipmunk, okay?” I screeched back, flapping my hands. “He conveyed enough for me to figure out we were in danger, and that the danger is Smaug. It isn’t like we can communicate the finer points through an animal.”

“I will go.”

Ionor and I stopped glaring at each other, our eyes zooming to Brethil. A new fear touched me. I knew Brethil. Trusted him. 

The elf in question captured and held Ionor’s gaze for a dozen heartbeats. What passed between them, I don’t know, but Ionor dipped his head. 

“See to your patient,” Ionor ordered me without breaking that visual link He nudged me in Brethil’s direction as the auburn-haired elf left the elleth’s side and strode towards Oin. 

I hurried to her, hands once again pressing down to staunch her bleeding. She was literally in my hands. Smaug, it appeared, wasn’t. I could have wept in both relief and fear, because I wasn’t sure I could save this lady warrior.

“Where is the Old Keep?” I heard Ionor ask Oin as I fumbled for the herbs I needed. 

“The Old Keep lies in the heart of the mountain,” Oin explained. “’tis the oldest section of Erebor, and the most defensible. There is only one passage to it, and I’m sorry to say, it’s big enough to accommodate a dozen dragons.”

_Wonderful._

“The dragon cannot enter it?” Brethil asked shortly.

“Nay, sir elf. All rooms and hallways in the Keep are dwarf-sized. He’ll not fit inside.” 

“This is a dragon we are discussing,” Ionor said with some heat.

“Aye,” Oin agreed. “I said it was the most defensible, the safest place in Erebor. I did not say it was dragon-proof.”

 _What?_

I spun around, but just then, the elleth gave this queer gasp. I lost my train of thought, all of my attention on my patient as the ragged rise and fall of her chest…stopped. No. No, no, no. I leaned closer, shaking her. “Please,” I whispered. I pressed two, blood-stained fingers to her throat, seeking a pulse. _Please,_ I prayed. _Please._

A tremendous roar echoed through the halls. As one, all heads panned towards the open maw of the infirmary’s entryway. 

Smaug. Close, from the sound of it. 

Brethil clapped Ionor on the shoulder and raced from the room. 

Elves and those wounded able to stand unaided broke into motion, getting ready to move to the Old Keep. Tears leaking down my face, I left the elleth’s body where it was, moving to another patient and wedging my shoulder into his armpit to aid him to his feet.


	50. Make That the Battle of THREE Armies...

### Chapter 49

Marcus stared at the seething mass of creatures waging war across the plains before him, the muscles along his neck and shoulders tightening. At his side, his second-in-command, Pete, inhaled with a hiss. 

An hour to find the naiads’ scents even with the echnari acting as a dowsing rod, and another half hour to trail the scent here. _Four and a half hours._ A part of him was dedicated to counting down each precious minute. Four and a half hours until his wife and the wives and families of his packmates were severed from them forever. His rage never abated. Cursed Old Ones. He blamed the humans for this. Had they policed their bigoted scum years before, none of this would have happened. Earth would not be the nightmare it now was, many of the naiads would not have died, and his naiad wards would not be needed. 

How they’d been selected, why, Marcus didn’t much care. He’d sworn to protect them but not at his wife’s or Pack’s expense. 

The Old One, Muriste, stared at the warzone arrayed before them without expression. An evil Daphne, Marcus thought with burning hatred. His pitiful ward was as contained, but her façade had never hidden such an evil soul. This creature, this echnari, was not pleased and had already lashed out at one of _his_ wolves in her ire. They had been forced to leave Carlos behind for retrieval later, his injuries too severe to maintain the pace they’d set. 

_Moron,_ Marcus labeled with scorn. Her own neck was on the chopping block, yet she’d taken one of her pieces out of play for no reason than her own impatience. His lip curled, his head turned away to hide that telling action from her. Back in Faerie, she’d have known his disdainful thoughts, but here, she was half-blind. Powerful still, the attack on Carlos proved that, but diminished. 

How difficult would it be, he wondered, to ensure she never stepped back through that portal? The echnari could be told that foreign “power” who’d stolen the twins had done it, and they’d never know differently. 

“Daphne Hunt,” Muriste whispered in her cold voice. “Aleks Hunt.” Her head tilted to the side, spilling inhumanly long black tresses over her shoulder as she listened for something the rest of them could not hear. Whatever it was pleased her, for a small, vindictive smile bent her lips. 

Unnaturally beautiful, these echnari. From a distance. Before they opened their mouths. 

“They are here,” she purred. 

Marcus and his wolves frowned in unison. Did she not understand the concept of “warzone”? Once more, he sneered out of sight. She failed to comprehend how incredibly dangerous this mess was not just for his men – he knew full well she cared nothing for the Pack – but for Daphne. “I hope you’re wrong,” he said in an intentionally mild voice.

Her head whipped in his direction, and at a word, pain flared through his body. Marcus grunted and collapsed to one knee, his wolves growling audibly in instant fury. Marcus growled back, ordering them to stand down. 

“You do not question _me,”_ Muriste cooed.

“You think a dryad is going to survive a trip through that?” he asked with a bitter snort. 

“That is what _you_ are here for,” she said in a syrupy-sweet voice. Her false smile vanished. “Go fetch. Now.”

Marcus stiffened with insult. He was not a _dog._ With another wolfish, guttural growl, he stalked forward. He had no choice. Futile rage rocketed through him. Oh, he knew what awaited the twins - a life under echnari chains. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy, much less two kids he felt responsible for. Holding his wife’s precious face before him like a talisman, he steeled himself for what he must do. 

A swift survey of the battlefield revealed big, canine-like creatures among one force. That decided him. “Change,” he ordered his packmates. Better to pass unhindered through one army than have to fight their way through both.

OoOoOo

At the sharp rapport of the Ruger, Smaug bellowed, spitting a jet of flame through the center of the massive hall – more in outrage than pain, Aleks thought. Men hit the deck, and Aleks saw more than one horse bolt. Slowly, the dragon’s head snaked around, searching.

Aleks got a second eyeful of Smaug’s ruined left cheek as he backed up with slow steps. _Lead him away,_ the satyr insisted. Away from here. Away from the infirmary. 

“You,” the dragon said as his fiery orange orbs latched onto him and darkened to a bloody crimson. Then in a guttural croon, _“You.”_

Smaug recognized him. _Time to go._ This had worked better than he’d expected. _Too_ better. Like a character in an old Saturday morning cartoon, Aleks was gone in a metaphorical puff of smoke. He’d never run so fast. As he careened back down the hallway, cracking, breaking noises pursued. A quick check revealed Smaug crawling the wall up to his level. His head appeared above the balcony’s lip as his claws gripped and pulverized stone. 

The dragon could create his own handholds, Aleks noted with distant hysteria. Wonderful. 

Smaug pulled himself onto the second story and gave chase, his footsteps reverberating through the stone floor underfoot. Crazily scary chuckles echoed through the hallway, and Aleks’s legs found a new measure of speed. 

“Yes, run from me,” Smaug said. “I will eat you slowly, man.” Another throaty chortle. “Did I mention I prefer my food…roasted?”

Maybe, Aleks decided, this hadn’t been the brightest of ideas.

OoOoOo

“Eru watch over you,” Bard whispered as he saw the young man disappear down a hallway above with the riled dragon in hot pursuit. He tore his gaze from the dragon’s disappearing tail and shouted, “Geffin.”

“Here, Lord Bard.”

Visually sifting through the panicking, screaming throng of people, he only spotted the other man as he shoved his way towards him. Geffin was the only soul venturing _towards_ Erebor’s open gates. Where, Bard wondered, was Bain? 

“The women and children?” he asked as the shorter, stockier man reached him. 

“Most are in the Third Hall,” Geffin told him. “Your son got the majority out of here before the beast arrived.” The man removed his leather helmet and sluiced sweat from his short blond hair. “But a lot of others scattered.”

So Bard had seen. He chanced another glance upwards. The young man had granted them time. Bard would not see it wasted. “We cannot have our injured risking the dragon to reach the healers.”

Geffin shook his head. “The elves cannot hold against the orcs for long without aid.”

No, they couldn’t. “Where are the healers?”

Geffin pointed. 

Bard’s lips compressed. “Alright. Here’s what we’ll do. Geffin, get as many of our men as you can to round up our people. Get them to the Third Hall as quickly – and as quietly – as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bard spurred his horse into a gallop. First, he’d assure himself that the healers lacked nothing and his people were safe. Then, he’d have to find a way to position the windlance and draw the dragon to it. He saw no other option.

OoOoOo

Thranduil yanked one sword free from the last troll in his vicinity, chest heaving. A bat slashed by his face, and Thranduil jerked out of the way not a second too soon. The cursed things were a menace. Not many of his ellyn remained free of lacerations across their faces from encounters with the creatures. The foul beasts filled the air, making every task all the more difficult. “Sainor?”

“Here, my liege.” The silver-haired ellon limped to his side. The guard’s green armor looked almost black, heavily soiled with orc and goblin blood. 

“You are injured,” the Elvenking commented, his gaze assessing as it swept across the battlefield. 

“I can fight,” his wife’s brother assured him. 

Though injured, Thranduil could not spare him. They fought their foes alone but for Oakenshield’s small band. No men aided their efforts, Dain and his dwarves had not arrived, and there had been no sighting of the skin-changer, Beorn. _Best rename this the Battle of Three Armies,_ he seethed to himself. So outnumbered, not an ellyn could be spared that had the ability to lift a sword, no matter how dire the wounds they sported.

The men had not yet returned. Thranduil’s attention flicked towards Erebor. Doubtless, they were now pinned inside, an angry dragon between them and the exit. He’d not anticipated having no allies at all but for Oakenshield’s group. 

Enough was enough. He could not plan appropriately until he had some answers from the dwarf king. With a short gesture, he ordered the nearest officer to take control of the forces here and remounted his steed. His Royal Guards swiftly did the same. In short order, they were carving a path towards where he’d last seen Oakenshield.

OoOoOo

Nori sped beside his brother through Erebor’s gold-kissed corridors, chills racing down his spine. Well did he remember the sounds now echoing through these halls. With each bang and thump, Nori’s nerves frayed.

He kept a sharp eye upon his younger brother. Ori had been young when Smaug had last invaded their home, and the fears he saw stirring in his brother’s eyes told him old memories haunted him, too. Despite that, Ori gripped the short sword Nori had shoved at him with steady hands, only the faintest sheen of perspiration upon his upper lip. 

At the next four-way junction, Nori halted his brother just inside the passageway and cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowed. With Smaug about, rushing through such an exposed intersection without all care would be an exercise in idiocy. 

“Nori?” Ori asked in a breathy voice. 

“What is he doing?” Nori finally asked, voicing the question that had been plaguing him. He tilted his head to the other side, trying to judge better where Smaug might be. Below them, aye, he was fairly confident about that, but with the way sound echoed off the walls, it was a chore to pinpoint the dragon’s position with any certainty. 

“Smaug?” his brother asked.

“Aye. Who else?” He shot Ori a look. 

Ori scowled back and straightened his shoulders. 

“It sounds as if he is running back and forth,” Nori murmured.

“Like he’s being led,” Ori agreed. 

Both of their eyes widened. “Who do you think would be foolish enough to do something like that?” Nori asked. With a groan, he answered at the same time as his brother, “Aleks.” Nori drummed the fingers of one hand upon his thigh. With a bob of his head, he said, “No help for it. We must locate Oin and see what has befallen our wounded and refugees.”

Ori near pranced in place. Nerves, Nori identified with a ghost of a grin. Like a wee puppy, Ori was. 

Another loud roar from Smaug shook the walls. The dragon was nearing. Nori again tapped out a short pattern with two fingers on his thigh. Right. Mapping out Erebor in his mind, he deduced they were closer to the Third Hall than the infirmary. “Follow me. And quiet-like.”

“I can do quiet,” Ori objected.

Nori rolled his eyes. Aye, not really. Choosing his course, Nori headed out, wincing as his heavy-footed brother pounded after him.

OoOoOo

We ghosted through bright passages. I didn’t know about Oin or the elves, but for me, each second was like nails on the chalkboard. Smaug’s thunderous roars would shake the walls and floor underfoot in unexpected fits and starts. At times, I could have sworn he was headed right for us as these tremendous, pounding footsteps raced in our direction. Then, the cacophony of the dragon’s passage would veer off, leaving us (okay, me) clammy with sweat and more than a little unnerved.

With each repetition, I lamented over the dwarves’ ingenuity and work ethic. Could they not have been a little less ambitious in their architectural decisions? Their use of mirrors to direct sunlight through their Halls was so keen, they’d left us no shadows in which to hide, and – and! – the idea that bigger was better? Yeah, they’d bought that one hook, line and sinker. The hallways we traversed down had walls that soared overhead to such lofty heights you could stack ten Smaugs on top of one another with ease. 

_Really unfortunate architectural decision, there, guys._ As Oin had warned, pretty much all of Erebor was spacious and roomy, the perfect digs for an enterprising dragon. _Or a couple hundred of them._ Looking around, it occurred to me that the dwarves had been lucky to attract the bachelor dragon’s attention. They could have ended up with a whole nest of the creatures. There was ample space for them.

Another blast of draconic rage echoed down the hall. The wounded elf using me somewhat as a crutch – as best both of us could manage given our height differences – pressed down upon my right shoulder as he craned about, eyes all for the long, exposed length of hallway behind us. 

“We will need to move that windlance into the mountain,” he said with difficulty. 

A wave of _duh_ went crashing over me. _Idiot much, Daphne?_ Smaug was inside Erebor. The healers and I were headed deeper into the mountain, and hopefully, Brethil would arrive with the refugees from Lake-town, too. That did nothing to alleviate the situation. Those wounded outside the mountain would have no access to trained healers. They had no place safe to send their wounded. Meanwhile, we were in here with an angry dragon prowling around. 

_Someone has to get the windlance._ Was Bard out there, leading his men in battle? Was the windlance with him? 

“Lady?” The injured elf, Othon, glanced down at me with a pinched expression. The ellon’s hair was the most truly golden shade I’d ever seen, almost a match for the armor Ionor had helped strip from him when he’d arrived in the infirmary. 

“Someone is going to have to find that dragon,” I said.

Ionor’s green eyes snapped in my direction.

“I didn’t necessarily mean me,” I defended. 

“That,” he stated, “I am not sure I believe, lady.”

Noise from nearby. Ionor’s chin jerked in a clear command to get moving, so Othon and I resumed our awkward, limping walk forward while Ionor – the only person not encumbered – held his curved sword in one hand, his gaze fixated upon a passageway that intersected ours some twenty feet back. The sound was too small to be Smaug, and in a matter of seconds, it gained definition. A horse? 

A second later, a mounted rider burst from that other passageway. “Bard,” I exclaimed. 

The instant the Lord of Dale clapped eyes upon us, relief lit his face. Man and horse slowed to a trot and made their way to us. Bard’s eyes swept over our group. “I feared the worst when I found the infirmary deserted.”

Ionor frowned. “Were you not assigned Royal Guard Lannor?”

Bard nodded absently. “When Smaug entered Erebor, I claimed the horse and hurried inside to avert disaster. To my knowledge, sir elf, Guard Lannor is yet well.”

“How did you find us?” I asked, again aiding Othon into a stumbling walk at Oin’s urging. Bard’s horse fell in beside me. “Did Brethil find you?”

“Brethil?” The name didn’t register at all. I could read it on his face. He shook his head. “No, lady. The dwarves Nori and Ori found us in the Third Hall. They sent me ahead to scout our path. If you would but wait one minute, the people of Lake-town can join you.”

My eyes closed. No Brethil. Had something happened to him on his way to the Third Hall? A part of me felt ill. _Of course it did,_ a part of me realized. Brethil would not desert his post. The elf was nothing if not obsessed with duty. _Smaug._ I prayed I was wrong, using the time while we waited to beg Eru to not let it be so. 

It was closer to five minutes later when Ori led the mob of humans out of that side hallway to us, men, women, and children. There were hundreds of them, but given how many people had lived in Lake-town before the dwarves’ arrival, it was depressing to see. So many had not made it this far. 

“Daphne,” Ori greeted. The men and women hurried among us to help assist with the wounded while the children huddled at their mother’s skirts, subdued. Freija claimed Othon’s other side, and at first I objected, but Nori appeared and drew me away. The look on his face killed any relief I’d felt at finding them safe. 

“Lass, I don’t rightly know how to tell you this,” the thief said.

Ice began to coat my innards, and my spine snapped straight. “What?” I asked with all the dread in the world. Nori had been up in one of those towers. _Bofur, you promised me. You **promised.**_ The fear took hold automatically. Had Nori seen my toymaker fall? 

Nori tapped fingers against his thigh while Ori frowned at him. With a roll of the eyes, the scholar stepped closer. “Aleks shot Smaug.”

Um. What? 

As my eyes bugged out, Bard’s grave nod assured me it was true. “He’s leading the dragon.”

Another thunderous bellow from Smaug ricocheted down the hall followed an instant later by an eerie silence. The men from Lake-town positioned themselves across the rear of our group, arms held at the ready. It was insanely brave of them.

Goose bumps pebbled my arms. Aleks. What had my brother done? I could almost picture it. The brother I was coming to know would _so_ do this. If there was one fault the two of us shared in spades, it was our impulsiveness. 

“Aleks?” I asked, attention flying to the chipmunk riding on my left shoulder. It nibbled on something it had stored in its cheek pouch, eyes wide as it faced the same direction from which the dragon’s roar had originated. At my summons, it stopped mid-chew and turned in my direction. My twin was watching, all right. 

“He’s watching?” Nori asked.

Bard frowned, his horse dancing beneath him. “How could he be listening? Why do you speak to an animal?”

Ugh. I turned to the Lord of Dale first. “Aleks and I are not dwarves,” I informed him. A niggling feeling drew my eyes to my right, and I found Freija listening with fierce attention. “But for our safety, we need to hide among them. The less said, the better.” She frowned as if weighing my words. Turning to Bard, I continued, “Aleks can communicate through animals.” To Nori, “Yes, he’s watching.” To the chipmunk, “If you survive this, we are going to have a chat about you doing something so reckless.”

The chipmunk gave me a look I had no trouble reading: _if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black._ Ugh. Okay, so I’d done worse on more than one occasion. 

I blew a strand of hair off my forehead, a side thought that maybe once Bofur’s braid was in place, it would stay out of my way flittering through my mind. The random thought warmed me. “Okay, so if we get the windlance into the First Hall…”

A scarily loud silence emanated from Ionor. _Sheesh, it’s like having Belegon here._ Scratch that – this guy was almost as good as Thranduil with the silences. My eyes slid sideways towards the chestnut-haired elf. “If _someone_ gets the windlance to the First Hall,” I corrected. The guard nodded sharply. Back to the chipmunk, “Can you lead Smaug to the windlance once it’s ready?”

The chipmunk shot me a look I interpreted as uncertain. 

“That’s a maybe?” I asked.

The chipmunk nodded.

“Right,” Nori said. “Ori, you go with this group.” When Ori began to object, he overrode him with, “Daphne may be needing you.” Ori subsided reluctantly. Nori continued, “Help get them to the Old Keep.” Nori turned to the Lord of Dale. “I don’t suppose you know where the windlance might be found?”

Bard nodded shortly, his body tense as Smaug’s path carried him somewhere nearby. “Did your people forge more Black Arrows?” 

Nori smiled. “There are six of them waiting. I’ll show you where.”

Bard offered the dwarf a hand and hauled him to a seat behind him. “Geffin,” Bard called.

“Sir?” one of the men responded at once. 

“The elves cannot hold back the enemy outside alone forever. Lead our men.”

The man’s head jerked back in surprise. 

“I will join you when I may,” Bard continued in a softer voice. “Mistress?” It took me a minute to realize he addressed me – I was fretting about this whole plan and getting all teary eyed thinking of my brother playing bait for a fire-breathing dragon. I hurried to his side. “My son and others from Lake-town are missing. When Smaug entered the First Hall, they scattered.”

It only needed this. My eyes closed. How would we find them? Returning my gaze to Bard, I promised, “Aleks can help us find them once Smaug is dealt with.” The chipmunk on my shoulder nodded. 

Before Bard could wheel the horse around, I said, “Wait,” and placed a hand upon Nori’s ankle. Nori’s chin dipped until our eyes met. “This won’t work if you have no way to tell Aleks when you are ready. Aleks?” Alvin’s face turned my way. “I’m giving Alvin to Nori so you can keep track of them. Alice will stay with me.” I hesitated and lifted the chipmunk before me. All kinds of awkward, I said, “I love you, twin.”

The chipmunk reached out with one paw and tapped my chin. It would have to do.

Bard and Nori galloped off, Alvin clinging to the dwarf with wide eyes. The men led by Geffin jogged behind them. With Ori at my side, I joined the refugees and wounded, our pace picking up with the extra help.

OoOoOo

Thorin stumbled beneath a brutal assault, steadied by Dwalin. The cursed bats hindered them all. Their sharp teeth and claws were reserved for the elves and dwarves, but by their very interference, they fouled the orcs’ sight, too.

He’d lost track of Bilbo long ago, but he refused to think on it or the ominous silence of Aleks’s strange weapon. He’d seen no evidence of either in too long. With Smaug once more within his kingdom, he feared for those who had sought refuge within its walls. Well did he remember the carnage a dragon might wreak. 

Thorin found his footing and rallied, rotating Orcrist once to loosen tight muscles in his wrist. He ignored the slashing bats and the pain the accumulating damage they caused brought. Where, he wondered, was Dain? The elves on their southern flank had been driven to retreat steadily despite thrice-cursed Thranduil’s leadership. _Mayhap due to it,_ a part of him sneered. 

Movement on his left flank. Thorin braced for incoming, then scowled as he spied Thranduil on his overgrown elk from the corner of his eye. 

“Oakenshield,” the elf greeted shortly. 

“Elvenking.” Thorin blocked an incoming swing and ducked low, Orcrist darting out and sliding like butter into a goblin’s belly. Thorin kicked the creature from his sword. 

“Did you summon aid?” the other king asked as he, too, fended off the sea of goblins, orcs and wargs around them. Elves in green surrounded the elf king, every one of them bearing injuries. “Will dwarves aid us or should I expect us to be on our own?”

Resentment flared. Subsided. As much as he hated to admit it, the elves had borne the brunt of their defense this day. It rankled, but Thorin refused to hide from that hard truth. “They come,” he replied shortly. 

The Elvenking’s head dipped once. “I pray it is in time.”

For once, Thorin agreed with the elf.

OoOoOo

Geffin signaled and two of his fellow guardsmen peeled off from the group to claim three horses he spotted trembling in an alcove along their path. They returned swiftly, leading the horses by the reins.

Geffin scrutinized his men and made a quick decision. “Athor, Janes, Cray, mount up.” 

“Geffin?” Athor asked as the older man reached his side. 

“You three will have a dangerous duty should you accept it. I need someone transporting our worst wounded to the Old Keep. You heard how to reach it?”

The three nodded in unison, sharing glances between themselves. Sucking on a lower tooth, Athor at last said, “We’ll do it.”

That was one less worry. “Station yourselves at the gates just inside Erebor. I’ll see to it the Elvenking and Oakenshield are notified. I don’t need to warn you it will be a perilous duty.”

“With a dragon about? No,” Cray said, the scarecrow of a man mounting one of the three horses with ease. “We’ll do this.”

Geffin rotated his shoulders and took a deep breath. “The rest of you, with me.” He roared the charge and the rest of the men of Lake-town soon found themselves battling overwhelming numbers at the foot of the Lonely Mountain.

OoOoOo

Azog crept up to Erebor’s destroyed gates with a hand-picked team of orcs at his back. He would do as the Eye commanded, but with every fiber of his being, he resented it. Oakenshield was within sight, yet he was constrained from removing that scum from existence until his chore was completed.

After, he promised himself, Oakenshield would be his. That dwarf and his spawn would not leave the mountain alive. 

Nearing the torn gates was so simple his lips curled back in disdain. _Stupid dwarves._ The combatants were so engrossed in the fight around them, they’d not stopped to position any to protect their backs…or the dwarf kingdom. None noticed as his team slunk ever closer, hugging the eastern edge of the mountain. 

With a signal, he halted his orcs. A quick command, and one of his archers killed an elf standing for no apparent reason near one of Erebor’s monstrous doors. The elf’s back arch as the arrow pierced his neck, and he fell, lifeless, to the ground. Azog ran across the distance between them and dragged the body into the shadow of the door. 

He cackled at what he found. The windlance. Smirking, he gestured at it, tossing the elf’s body beside the cart it rested upon. “Look what we have here, boys,” he chortled. “It seems someone thinks they can stop our dragon.” He spat at it. “Take it,” he commanded two of his warriors. “Find a ditch to toss it into. Catch up with us when you are done.” As they hastened to obey, he growled, “Move it, maggots!” 

The two yanked the windlance free and carried it out from behind the iron door. Azog led the rest towards Erebor. Three men sat upon horses, and he watched, considering options, as they would individually gallop forward to claim a wounded soldier before thundering into the mountain at full speed. 

They knew where those inside the mountain were. They could lead him. After the second departed with one of the injured, leaving only one man behind, Azog decided. Before the remaining man knew his peril, another arrow flew through the air and punctured his chest. Azog hid the body and led his force into Erebor undetected.


	51. Losing Ground

### Chapter 50

Thranduil jerked his swords free from the orcs to either side of him, Sainor at his side. With the back of one hand, the Elvenking dashed enemy blood from his cheek as he remounted his stag. 

They had lost ground. Too much ground. The men had joined them at last, though Thranduil had not sighted Bard. Too little, too late, he feared. The combined strength of elves, dwarves, and men was not enough. Dain had yet to arrive, and Thranduil began to doubt that he would in time. Hwinneth’s books were, once again, in error. Whether some foul play had delayed or removed the dwarves, none could say, but their lack was evident as the battle swung so much the worse against the Free Peoples than anticipated. 

Gandalf slammed his staff to earth once more, knocking dozens of goblins and orcs from their feet. The men near him rushed forward, slicing those foes down before they could rise again. 

An orc horn sounded.

That was the only warning he had before it seemed the entirety of the enemy’s armies turned and converged upon the Elvenking as if he stood alone upon the battlefield. Thranduil heard Legolas cry, “ADAR!” and then he and his Royal Guards were inundated.

OoOoOo

Marcus ducked beneath one of the foul creatures attacking the defenders at the base of the mountain. So far, he’d found no trace of Aleks or Daphne. Daphne, he hadn’t expected to find out here, but Aleks had been a real possibility. Could they be inside that mountain?

The place itself was something out of a movie set. He’d seen nothing like it on Earth, further proof of just how far from home he was. He lifted his nose into the air, ignoring the way the creatures around him snarled at one another in their unfathomable language and shoved at him. The canine-like creatures had proven difficult to deal with. Marcus had torn apart at least six when they’d scented him and responded with hostility. Still, it beat having to fight through the throngs of misshapen humanoids surrounding him.

A horn blared, and the army around him surged towards were what he could only label as an elf fought from upon a white elk. He pitied the elf, but ignored his plight.

That was when one of his wolves howled. _Pete,_ he identified. The wolf had scented one of their twins.

OoOoOo

Fíli watched, Bifur at his side, as the Elvenking crashed onto his back, a bloody rend in his armor at the hip. The elf’s impressive white steed reared up on its hind hooves, its body speared through with so many weapons, it fair resembled a porcupine.

Thranduil fought on with one sword, the other lost in the fray. He almost disappeared beneath the masses of orcs surrounding him as he lay sprawled on the ground, unable to rise for the weapons above him. To Fíli’s eye, the elf’s movements were slowing, sluggish. The elf had saved him back in Lake-town. Detest the king as he did for his people’s sake, he would not stand here and watch him get cut down.

“Bifur,” he commanded, adjusting his grip on his swords and rushing through mobs of combatants towards the fallen king. Where were Thranduil’s green-clad guards when their king needed them? 

_“Khazâd ai-mênu!”_ Fíli cried, hearing other dwarf throats take up his call as he charged. Arrows flew with a hiss past his shoulder, removing goblins and orcs alike from his path. _Kíli._ It seemed the entire enemy army crowded in towards the Elvenking, and Fíli found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with a silver-haired elf in heavily soiled green garb. Fíli quickly added his own swords to the Elvenking’s defense, deflecting a host of iron weapons flying at him from all directions from screaming orcs.

OoOoOo

Thranduil struggled to his feet, surging upwards only to fall as his balance failed him. His eyesight wavered as if the air was turned to water. His ears rang with the thunder of war, the guttural orcish hollers causing his head to throb.

 _Head wound,_ a dispassionate inner voice noted. 

The enemy had changed its tactics, it seemed. Instead of throwing orcs and goblins at them with little finesse, he had chosen a target and aimed them like an arrow. The Elvenking supposed he should be flattered that Sauron saw him as such a threat. Gritting his teeth, Thranduil attempted to rise once more, this time finding a sudden source of aid at his right side, a solid presence lending him strength. 

_Sainor. “Le hannon, mellon nin,”_ he managed. 

“I’m not understanding a word o’ that,” a jovial voice boomed. “But you’re welcome, all the same.”

Thranduil’s head whipped around. The strong arm keeping him upright belonged to a dwarf – the same dwarf his daughter had defended in his Halls so many weeks before. 

The portly, dark haired dwarf nodded as their eyes met. “Bombur, at your service.” The dwarf smiled up at him before suddenly spinning around and slamming a shield against a goblin to his right. He then rammed his belly into the creature, sending it flying back into a sword held by…Oakenshield.

For a split-second, king stared at king. There was no hope of friendship there, but recognition flared. A common purpose now unified them. 

Oakenshield was the first to move, Orcrist batting aside a heavy swing of a tall orc’s blade. Thranduil, bereft of his last weapon when he’d suffered the brutal blow to his head, quickly slipped in behind an orc and twisted its blade from its hands as Sainor finally appeared, gaining his side. 

More of his Royal Guards returned to his side: Curgorachon, Minasson, and others. 

Too many, however, did not.

OoOoOo

All around the battle waged, hottest where the two kings fought. The effort to cut down Thranduil had failed, but the enemy did not give up. No, Thorin realized with narrowed eyes, the enemy now directed his forces at both kings. _And our heirs._

“Kíli, fall back behind me,” he commanded. 

His younger nephew slowly retreated, firing one arrow after another without ceasing. Bombur, Thorin noted, had returned to Kíli’s side and used his shield to bash the goblins attempting to reach his prince by sneaking low to the ground. 

Thorin lost sight of Fíli. The current of orcs cut his heir off from the rest of them, along with Balin and Bifur. He struggled to follow after Dís’s eldest, but the dwarves were too outnumbered. Back and back, they were driven until the combined forces of the Free Peoples now claimed only a patch of land a third the size of the First Hall. Soon, Thorin speculated, they would be pressed back into Erebor itself…and the dragon. 

So close, he’d been, to claiming his home and seeing Erebor’s glory restored. Fíli’s words of hours before echoed within his mind, and anger burned within his chest. To fall to Azog – surely Mahal and Eru would not be so cruel. _Not to that creature,_ he vowed, though it seemed he would be spared that fate, for even now as the defenders lost ground, Azog did not appear. 

A sour-tasting determination replaced his anger. _Should it be our destiny yet, my nephews and I, to fall to the orc, let it be such a death as does our line proud,_ he prayed. Surely Eru would grant that if nothing more. 

“So Bofur, have you no comments about your brother saving the Elvenking?” Kíli called above the din. 

Bofur’s expression flickered. Thorin suspected he alone detected it, but it betrayed how deeply concerned his friend was. As fast as Thorin saw it, it was gone as if it had never been, replaced by Bofur’s habitual grin. “A comment, young Kíli?”

A couple elves scowled in their direction, and Thorin hid a smirk as he rotated Orcrist once more to loosen tight muscles in his wrist. He then reversed the action, blocking a downward swipe by the orc before him. Bofur took advantage of the orc’s exposed belly and slammed his pickax home. Thorin finished the orc with a swipe across its neck. 

“And did not our king save your own brother, young Durin?” a female voice called out next. Thorin’s eyes flicked to the side. Captain Tauriel, he identified. “Are we numbering the souls we save in battle?”

 _“Och,_ no,” Bofur chimed in, a glint in his eye. Thorin’s lips quirked as he waited to see where the toymaker took this. _“Families_ do not keep count, aye, Bombur? ‘twould be unsporting to keep record of good turns.”

Families. Dark amusement surged through Thorin as Thranduil’s poised calm cracked and a lethal glare speared in Bofur’s direction. Thorin ducked beneath the swing of an orc and danced backwards as two more blades headed his way. A laugh escaped him the more he thought about it. Thranduil. With a dwarf son-in-law. 

How he relished the idea.

OoOoOo

Aye, he’d let temptation and irritation rule his tongue, Bofur admitted. Far from hiding the lass’s attachment to him, he was close to proclaiming it. And in the presence of enemies, no less.

“Family? How do you figure that?” an elvish voice proclaimed in insult. 

At that voice, remembered ire returned, and with it, he found the proper response. “Ah, come now, my fine princeling. After our kindly discussion of before, what else is a dwarf to think but that he’s won your approval when you fair toss the lass into his arms?” 

Silence. 

_Aye, I warned you, Prince Legolas. You had one last chance to protect my lass, and you failed._ He was not of a mind to grant the elves another one. Oh, he fully intended to gain the Elvenking’s approval, but now he was inclined to use any method, fair or foul, to strong arm the elf into agreement. He’d not have his Daphne hurt, and by Durin, she’d not be leaving dwarf protection. 

Before any elf could respond, Gloin chortled, “Ninety-two!” from somewhere to Bofur’s right. “Ye’d best be keeping up if ye wish to impress the lassie, toymaker!”

Bofur winked when the Elvenking’s icy blue eyes burned his way for a split-second. Turning to counter an attack aimed at Thorin, he lifted his voice in return. _“Oi!_ I’ll have you know, Master Gloin, the lass is quite taken with many of my other fine attributes. I’m not needing a body count to make up for my failings in other areas.” 

Kíli guffawed as Gloin sputtered, “You- You- Rascal!” 

Bofur’s cheeks felt near to cracking, he grinned so widely as he swung his pickax in an arc. Orcs jerked backwards, trying to avoid the pickax’s lethal tip. He followed behind with the sword. “If you’re needing lessons on how to bring a smile to your lady-wife’s lips, I’d be happy to give you pointers, Master Gloin.” A pause as he leaped backwards out of range of a wicked-looking spear. “I offered the same to Bifur just a bit ago. Should I be holding classes, lads?”

“Nay,” Bombur boomed in his deep voice from another direction. “Don’t be listening to him, Gloin. It is not my brother who has the special way with the ladies. For that, you’ll be wanting to speak with our own Kíli.” 

_“Oi!”_ Thorin’s nephew called out to much laughter.

The elves showed no appreciation for the banter. Quite the opposite, Bofur surmised. It made him all the more grateful to be a dwarf. If they fell this day, at least they would do so with honor…and the joy of having pricked the elves to irritation one last time.

OoOoOo

_Too close._ Sweat poured off of Aleks like so much rain water after a deluge.

Smaug was playing with him. A dozen or so close calls proved it. The dragon could have finished him off long ago, but so far, he seemed content to chase Aleks down, shooting zots of fire at him to keep him jumping. 

_Hunted._ He’d never experienced the true horror of being hunted down like a beast before. It was one thing to plan to keep Smaug busy. It was quite another to carry it out. To willingly be the bait. He’d never felt his mortality so keenly as he did as the minutes unfurled, each tainted by the pungent scent of growing fear and desperation. 

He had to get away. Exhaustion was compounded by his growing list of injuries, slowing down both speed and reflexes. Getting away from a dragon? Easier said than done. He wasn’t kidding when he’d told Daph he wasn’t sure if he could lead the dragon to the First Hall when Bard was ready. Smaug was bigger, faster. Aleks fully recognized he’d bitten off way more than he could chew. And this time, there was no Company to save him.

His clothes smoldered from a blast of fire a good ten minutes before. Aleks suspected the burns along the base of his calves were bad, but other than slap out the flames as fast as he could, what else was there to do? Like Smaug would heed him if he made the classic “T” sign and asked for a time-out.

Lungs aching from exertion, he fled down a side passageway as Smaug again spat out a small, melon-sized ball of fire. _Small,_ a part of him ridiculed. When it was fire from a dragon, even small was deadly. The molten projectile slammed into a stone surface and exploded in a shower of sparks. It probably left a nice crater in the stone, too, but Aleks wasn’t about to slow down to assess the damage. 

He randomly chose another offshoot and veered sharply to the left, entering yet another byway. Signs labeled these paths faithfully, but Aleks couldn’t read a one of them. He assumed they were written in Khuzdul, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of them. The letters were so many nonsensical squiggles and blocky geometric angles, completely foreign to his own alphabet. 

Such passages served as roads, he’d discovered – roads that crisscrossed a full, sprawling kingdom much more vast than he’d imagined. There were literally dozens if not hundreds of town-like areas spread throughout the mountain, complete with forges, stone block homes and market squares. He was lost in this bloody maze, and he’d best get _un_ lost quick. The status quo wouldn’t last long. His tired body throbbed with every step. Smaug, no doubt, would get bored of this game eventually. 

Still, he did not regret his choice. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. He owed Daph this. He owed _himself_ this. Whether anyone ever knew of his actions or not, it was his chance to do the right thing. His chance to do something that mattered. Be the hero. 

“Foolish man. Yes, run from me. Run faster,” Smaug taunted. Aleks wished he had the strength to snap back at him, but all he could do was drag air into his lungs and keep barreling down this latest hallway. “Where are the dwarves?” Smaug rumbled as he stalked after him with ground-shuddering footsteps. “Hiding? Of course they are,” he answered himself. “I can smell them.” _Thump. Thump. Thump._ “I can smell _you.”_

_Terrific. Happy for ya._ Glib words aside, another spurt of awful terror welled up from within. He hated this feeling, this helpless, vulnerable feeling of being stalked like the gazelle with a whole pack of wolves on its tail. It engendered a desperately futile feeling of inevitability, one that grew moment by moment. How was he to survive this? 

Aleks darted down another corridor, his gait adopting a slight limp. His adrenaline rush was crashing, leaving him with a bum left ankle from an earlier misstep. At best, it felt sprained. At worst, he feared a fracture. It didn’t matter. Broken, fractured, or not, the ankle couldn’t be spared. The only safety from Smaug’s flames was breaking the dragon’s line of sight through constant zigzagging. A no-brainer, really.

Aleks’s breath hitched as he got his first look at the new path before him. _No. No, no, no!_ For real? His teeth clamped together until his jaw ached. The road beneath his feet stretched on for another twenty yards…before ending. Just ending. _Stairs up ahead,_ a part of him noted. He’d seen it before although up until now he’d been able to avoid such pitfalls by taking a new side path. 

This hall had no side paths. 

His already struggling heart thundered with new panic. From here, he couldn’t tell which direction the stairs ran other than down. Could be straight ahead, could be right or left, and he’d have little time to adjust his trajectory to compensate. Not like he could slow down to _take his freaking time._ Aleks could have screamed in frustration. Dwarves rarely carved out tidy stairs that marched down in a straight line, either. They were forever stacking stairs that doubled back upon themselves. 

He was going to lose valuable distance between himself and the Incinerator from Hell. 

_Help?_ Aleks searched wildly for any animals in the vicinity. He got a brief feeling of the fox in another direction, the animal exhausted and petrified, cowering against a wall. A couple of rats huddled in a dark crevasse beneath some stairs in another hall but from what he detected, pretty much all wildlife had vacated the immediate area. 

They showed better sense than he had.

Was the windlance ready? He scrambled to strengthen his link to Alvin and accidentally got Alice. His bond with Daph flickered and a brief impression came down the link: black hallways, bare feet smacking against cold stone floor. 

Aleks reached the top landing of the stairwell and found himself in a huge cavern littered with thin bridges and stairs both above and below him. He fell on his butt, his feet sliding out from beneath him in a frantic bid to halt his headlong rush as his panicked mind recognized what he saw – or rather, what he didn’t see. Like, stairs. Fragments of a case began off to his left, but they disintegrated after the tenth step or so. 

The breath in his lungs froze. Aleks whirled around, eyes like saucers. 

Smaug prowled towards him, his tail whipping violently back and forth, smashing wall to either side. The dragon’s ruined face contorted in a toothy snarl. “I see the end of our game has arrived,” he purred. “Dead end.” A low, rumbling laugh as if the dragon found his two-fold meaning hilarious. “Now, man, you die.” 

A zot of fire flashed down the hallway. Aleks inhaled, sucking in his gut and leaping to one side. Another blast had him jumping in the opposite direction but not fast enough. His right sleeve ignited like a torch, searing through layers of skin. Pain exploded through his limb as he dropped and rolled. More fire followed. How he wasn’t incinerated, he later couldn’t say. Luck. Divine intervention. Maybe Smaug enjoyed watching him writhe on the ground and decided to prolong it. 

The rolling extinguished the flames, and Aleks huddled against one wall, clutching the arm to him. Feverish pain-chills broke out upon his skin, and he swallowed bile, his stomach protesting. He could smell his own charred flesh with each inhale. 

Then came the familiar sound of a mighty inhale. Smaug’s eyes lidded as his chest expanded. Aleks struggled to his feet, using the wall behind him for support. _I don’t want to die,_ he thought with some futility, searching wildly for some escape. He had seconds, maybe, before Smaug exhaled, and this time, it would be no small fireball the dragon burped up. This would be a lethal torrent of molten fire. 

That was when he saw it. A chance. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. Aleks was running before his mind could list all the reasons why this wouldn’t work. Running towards the dragon. He had to get past Smaug before the dragon exhaled.

Faster. Faster. Tears began to pool into his eyes. He didn’t want to die. He had everything to live for - the Company, his twin, everything. He wanted to see Thorin crowned. Daph with Bofur. Freija and her dimples. 

A deafening roar filled the passageway just as he dove onto the slate floor to Smaug’s right. The air heated to a blistering pitch so intense it seeped into the very stones, making them glow like coals. Aleks sobbed once, scrabbling past the dragon, aiming for his escape hatch: a ragged, narrow rift torn through the stone wall by Smaug’s barbed tail. 

Stifling heat turned the air in the hallway unbearable. His nostrils and esophagus roasted as he dragged scorching air into his lungs. He had to get out of here. 

Aleks reached the gouged section of stone. With fumbling desperation, he dug loose stones from the gap, widening the hole. The aperture opened diagonally downward. He had no idea what he’d face when he wriggled through, but he had no other options.

Smaug’s fire cut out, then the dragon roared and pivoted towards him. Going for broke, Aleks scrambled through the hole, scraping already burned skin.

Then, he fell.

OoOoOo

_“One hundred and fifty-six,”_ Gloin chortled to the world at large, the dwarf’s ax, face, and armor drenched in gore and black blood.

Bofur dredged up a grin to toss in his direction as he exchanged blows with a snarling, yellow-eyed orc, but Legolas snapped, “Will you be silent?” 

He well understood the elf’s frustration. They were all exhausted and riddled with wounds and bites. The bats had not relented, and Bofur was wishing dearly for Aleks to somehow spare them that particular torment. Bats obscuring their view, bats aiming to put out the eye. The creatures were everywhere, and not a soul was free from their marks. 

To add to their plight, they had been driven back until their rearmost fighters now stood only a dozen yards before Erebor’s gates. Soon, very soon, they’d be in the First Hall, squeezed like a press between the hordes of orcs and goblins outside and a riled dragon from within. 

Still, morale was morale. Thorin’s gray eyes turned his way expectantly, and Bofur could not fail him. Maintaining his grin, he called, _“Och,_ jealous of our Gloin, are we, Prince Legolas?” He clucked his tongue, knowing sensitive elvish ears would detect it. “And you a prince of your people? The famous archer of your lands?”

Blue eyes beamed his way with absolute affront. Bofur winked back. Legolas shook his head. The prince, too, looked haggard and worn. Even elven poise and prissiness was no match for a day of brutal battle. Dwarves sniggered, and Gloin outright boomed with laughter. Acidic elven words flowed in return. Insults, Bofur decided. 

“Now that was uncalled for,” he proclaimed, feigning hurt. He ducked as a goblin’s spear thrust at his head and lashed out with the pickax. 

“What Hwinneth saw in you, dwarf, I will never understand,” Legolas returned. 

Bofur’s grip upon his pickaxe whitened. Enough banter had pointed to a link between Daphne and himself. Did the enemy know what Daphne looked like? _Most likely, yes._ His lips flattened. He’d have that from the Elvenking himself, now, wouldn’t he? And then Bofur had rushed to her side when she’d fought the Dark Lord. Like as not, Sauron was well aware of her ties to both elves and dwarves. 

Perhaps it was a fool’s hope that he could arrange things so that Erebor would be a safe haven for her. Radagast had not answered his cry for aid, and without the wizard to help, his task became all the more difficult. How, he wondered, did one set the stage to fake a death without wizardry? How to fool the Dark Lord? 

_I’ll not give up, my lass._ He’d find a way.

OoOoOo

Thorin threw himself to the side, taking Bofur and Dori with him as a pack of wargs suddenly burst from within the orc and goblin forces. He rolled to one knee, Orcrist lifted defensively, and from the corner of his eye, he knew Bofur and Dori had both assumed similarly defensive postures.

 _These are no wargs._ He’d not seen such creatures before, and wargs, he knew. Mahal. What new devilry was this? 

“Dori?” he asked in a low voice. The creatures, whatever they were, did not pursue them but instead eyed them intently. The leader – for clearly, the other wolfish things took their cues from the brown animal with a black marking between its eyes – growled. Two of the animals separated themselves from the pack and took down orcs daring to attempt to pass them by. It was bloody, and it was fast. 

“Nay, Thorin. I’ve never seen the like,” the eldest of the Ri brothers told him. 

Before Thorin could ask, Bofur agreed with a short shake of his head. 

The leader sniffed once, twice. Then, intelligent brown eyes homed in upon Bofur. It took one step towards the younger toymaker. 

Thorin gave no signal, yet every dwarf in the vicinity coalesced together, forming a line to meet the creatures. Fíli, he noted, hat not yet returned, nor had Bifur and Balin. He spared a thought to hope they were safe.

The leader bared its lips in a snarl. With no cause Thorin could see, the creature began to _blur._ The orcs nearest the strange beasts backed away in fright. One dared strike out at the leader of these new creatures with a bow, and the entire pack of wolfish animals reacted. As a unit, they tore into the orcs’ and goblins’ front ranks. The savagery and efficiency they demonstrated chilled the blood. 

“What is this?” Thranduil’s voice sounded from his side.

Thorin startled – cursed elf silence – but did not dare turn from this new threat. “You do not recognize them?” he asked. If this elf, who had lived for well over six thousand years, did not know these things… An itching suspicion occurred to Thorin, one he prayed proved incorrect. 

“No,” came the Elvenking’s cool voice. The golden-clad elf stepped closer, watching as the Company watched, as the blurred form changed. Fingers appeared where a paw had been just seconds before. 

A sharp inhale from Bofur. Thorin stepped upon his foot deliberately. _Silence,_ he willed, his gaze cutting to the toymaker. Bofur’s head dipped the tiniest bit, but his grip upon the pickax, Thorin noted, grew so tight that the toymaker’s knuckles stood out in stark relief.  
Well did he understand, for Thorin’s own temper sharpened. If this was the one Thorin suspected, recompense was due, and Thorin would exact it. For Aleks. For Mistress Hunt. 

The blurriness faded, revealing to them a hairy and naked man with hard brown eyes and a shaggy mane of dark hair. “Where are Aleks and Daphne?” he rumbled with no fanfare. 

_So._ Thorin’s clasp upon Orcrist shifted as he debated the wisdom of simply running the man through. _No, not man,_ he corrected himself. _Werewolf._

“Minasson,” he heard Thranduil say in a low voice. “Bring the wizard to me.”

“Sire.” One of the green-clad Royal Guards darted away. 

The werewolf paid him no mind, merely repeated, “You do not want to argue with _me,_ small man. I have no quarrel with you, but I will tear you apart if you stand in my way.”

“Aye, and I’d like to see ye try,” Gloin protested, his words supported by grunts by many of Thorin’s other dwarves. The redhead dwarf planted himself before Thorin with lifted ax.

“Am I so feeble I now need protection, Master Gloin?” Thorin asked in a mild rebuke. 

“Yer our king, laddie. No one threatens my king but he feels the heavy blade of my ax.”

Thorin’s lips twitched. That was his dwarf, all right. 

Another of the creatures began to blur, and the leader snarled, his head whipping around to confront him. Not many heartbeats later, a younger man hunched on all fours like his leader, his skin paler and face that of one not far into manhood. At the leader’s escalating growl, one Thorin felt more fitting from his wolfish skin, the younger werewolf ducked his head. “Alpha, I know where we are,” the younger rushed to inform the elder. 

The elder lifted one brow in silent demand. 

“Middle Earth,” the younger continued. “That,” he nodded towards Thorin, “is the dwarf king, Oakenshield. Gloin protects him. And if I were to bet, the gray haired dwarf there is Dori, that’s Bofur with the pickax, and the one with the bow is Kíli.”

Kíli eased closer to Thorin’s shoulder. “One of Aleks’s werewolves,” he murmured. 

Thorin hissed him to silence, but the damage was done. The alpha’s head whipped around, spearing them where they stood. “You know where my wards are,” the werewolf said. 

“Alpha,” the younger werewolf began, only to be cut off by the leader’s sharp, “I do not care where we are, Troy. The next time you break one of my commands, you will not walk for a week. Do you understand?” 

The young werewolf’s throat convulsed but he nodded. 

“Good. Shift. Now.”

Thorin’s gaze slid to his left and found Thranduil. The elf’s blue eyes blazed with an icy fire. “We have not the time for this,” the elf said softly.

“Good,” the werewolf – _Marcus,_ Thorin was confident to label – returned to them, his gaze assessing. “Tell me where they are, and we’ll be out of your way.”

“No,” two voices proclaimed at once. Both kings’ gazes collided once more in distaste to find they’d once again agreed whole-heartedly. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, and Thorin inclined his head. 

So. They were unified in this. 

“Your ties, Marcus of the Earth realm, are severed, your position replaced by those more suitable,” Thranduil said with a cool distain only an elf could manage. 

The werewolf’s hackles rose.

Thorin smirked. “Aleks belongs to me,” he told the creature with satisfaction. “Mistress Hunt calls the Elvenking father.” Though it had rankled before, Thorin enjoyed wielding that particular weapon now. 

A small smile appeared upon Thranduil’s lips. “And should you wish to argue that the twins have passed into adulthood, my Hwinneth’s chosen stands before you.”

Oh, how Thranduil must have choked on the words, Thorin thought. But in this, Thorin understood the elf. Better Daphne be linked with dwarves than the werewolves that had neglected and harmed their twins so grievously.

Bofur picked up on the elf’s thread right quickly. “Aye,” his dwarf proclaimed. “If you’ve business with my lass, you’ll be speaking with me first.”

Brown eyes narrowed to thin slits at they traveled from Thranduil to Thorin to Bofur. What they found was a unified front. A strange, strange turn of events that unified elf with dwarf so thoroughly, Thorin mused. Hate Thranduil or not, Thorin would tolerate the elf to protect his naiads. 

The wolf-man smirked. “Good luck with that. We’ll be taking them back with us.”

All of the dwarves stiffened in outrage. Thorin, Bofur and the Elvenking strode forward as one with weapons brandished. Thorin knew not what passed through the elf’s or toymaker’s heads, but he had no intention of allowing this _thing_ to lay claim to Aleks or Daphne. _Never,_ he promised himself. He would never see Aleks’s loyalty, or his sister’s kindness to them, repaid by returning them to that realm.

Before they could close with the snarling wolves, the enemy intervened. Orcs rallied and rushed at them, followed closely by the less-bold goblins. Fight as hard as he could, the path to the werewolves was blocked, though Thorin countered the many weapons flashing at him from the fore in a bid to reach them. Thranduil’s blade shielded him once, and he repaid him not a second later. For Aleks and Daphne – for now – their feud was done. 

Kíli’s bow snapped as the others joined the battle. 

“Do you see them?” Thorin demanded. 

“No,” the Elvenking responded with equal frustration. The wolves melted away into the midst of their enemy, leaving elves and dwarves embroiled in battle, helpless to do anything other than return to the war raging before them.

OoOoOo

Marcus roared with rage, changing back so fast his bones ached. He was sorely tempted to begin shredding these obstinate dwarves and (he assumed) elves, but they knew where the twin were. They may yet be of use.

The creatures arrayed against the defenders this time targeted Marcus and his wolves. They’d not be able to hide among the aggressors again. He growled his orders, and the wolf pack streaked through the invaders’ lines before circling around the defenders’ positions and running towards the open gates of the mountain. At the threshold, every werewolf set his snout to the ground, sniffing. _Inside,_ more than one wolf howled. Pete barked confirmation. 

Some of those foul-smelling invaders were inside, too, Marcus noted. He snorted. Served the defenders right, hiding his own wards for him, decreeing they’d usurped his place as they jeopardizing the Pack. Marcus might not have wanted the twins, but once something or someone was given to a werewolf, it was his. Only _he_ could rescind ownership, and that he was not doing. The twins were the currency that would buy back his people’s safety. 

He spared a thought to wonder if the defenders knew they had enemies within the mountain. He thought not, and chortled to himself. The arrogant creatures had a surprise waiting for them. 

Padding inside the mountain, a smoky, reptilian scent almost overwhelmed him. Something had burned in this room, and recently. Then, Marcus paused, eyes flaring, as the sheer size of the room before him sank in. Huge did not cover it. It seemed to go on for a mile. Scanning the room, dismay grew. Passages lined the stone room, both from this floor and four or five above it that opened overhead onto balconies. The magnitude of the place overwhelmed him. How far did this place extend into the mountain? A tendril of panic wound around his gut. They didn’t have time for this! 

The rhythmic sound of an oncoming horse drew his attention deeper inside the massive room they’d entered. A rider galloped towards them, and the wolf nearest the newcomer howled – human. 

Marcus ignored him – a human was no threat - and set his wolves to sniffing each passageway until they caught a distinct lungful of maple-scented Daphne. With a barked command, the pack was off.

OoOoOo

Fíli did a double-take as he saw a pack of wargs dash into Erebor. “Mahal,” he whispered, then returned to the fight while the man beside him, Geffin, shouted for his men to reinforce their right flank.

Why would wargs enter Erebor?

OoOoOo

_Aleks?_

My worried gaze would have turned to the chipmunk, but when the lights in this section of Erebor had abruptly gone out, Alice had made tracks back into her sling. I rather wished I could join her.

All conversation had ceased, and the lights did not come back on. _(Duh, Daph. This isn’t a flicker in the power grid.)_ The children went abnormally quiet, the babies’ cries hushed and thready. 

“One of the mirrors must have been damaged,” Ori said from my side. The scholar brushed against me – he seemed to be turning around to address the masses of refugees around us – but I saw none of it. It was pitch black. Seriously pitch black. I could wave my hand inches before my nose and not see any sign of movement.

Someone got a lantern going, and a few candles flickered to life after that, but they did little to counter the smothering darkness that now ruled here. My heart refused to settle, thumping away like Radagast’s hares. 

“Keep moving,” came Ionor’s quiet and calm voice. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one taking comfort in the confidence he exuded as we again shuffled forward in the scant light of our candles. 

How to explain the weight of the silence, the echoing emptiness that kept us company as we traveled onward? With so much mountain between us, Smaug’s bellows had faded away. It was more unnerving than hearing Smaug would have been. So long as Smaug was running back and forth and roaring, I’d been assured my twin yet evaded him. I was petrified Aleks was going to get himself killed. Though a part of me said I’d know if the worst happened, I agonized over it. 

Ori’s hand wrapped around mine, and I jumped, startled. I returned the clasp and then some. Didn’t much matter to me that my palms throbbed at the pressure. Ori might not be the strongest of the dwarves or the canniest (granted, on that point I was biased), but I trusted him. 

I craned my neck about to check on Hydi and her family. The nearest candle was a few yards behind us, so I couldn’t make out their features, only enough to assure that they were still a few steps behind me. 

Following Oin, Ionor right before me, the lot of us progressed out of our current hallway onto a simple, stone bridge. To each side, walls fell away, leaving us exposed above what looked to be a bottomless, shadowed drop. Needless to say, I was not the only one bemoaning the lack of guardrails or a banister. 

“Ori?” I whispered, unable to shatter the silence with a louder voice. 

Thanks to the few candles and lanterns, I could tell his head tilted my way. 

“You guys really need to rethink your building habits.”

OoOoOo

Nori scrunched his brow, his head tilting to one side. “Ah, Lord Bard?” He scratched his jaw. The man had dismounted as well and stared at the chaotic battlefield before them with a clenched jaw. His right hand was white about the reins of the horse.

“It was here,” Bard said. Then louder, “It was _here.”_ The man stomped forward until his footsteps changed from the hollow sound of a boot upon stone to the same upon dirt and gravel. 

Nori followed, fingers of his left hand rapping on his thigh while his right held his mace at the ready. “I think we’ve got ourselves a bit of a flaw in our plans.” On his shoulder, the chipmunk didn’t seem to much care, and that worried Nori. _Mahal, Aleks, what has befallen you?_

“Where could it have gone?” Bard said, the question sounding more inwardly directed to Nori’s ears. 

“That would be the question, wouldn’t it?” Nori said. He nudged the chipmunk with one finger and got nipped for his trouble. 

“It is too heavy to simply wander off,” Bard burst out with understandable frustration. 

The man had a point there. Nori eyed their surroundings, thinking. Instinct told him their peril had just magnified by leaps and bounds. The windlance could not have moved itself; ergo, someone moved it. Who? Nori doubted any of their forces fighting outside Erebor had the time to spare to move the weapon, and those inside Erebor were too busy running for their lives to mess with it.

Nori rubbed one hand down his face. “If the windlance has gone missing, we may have enemies inside Erebor.” 

Bard frowned, his eyes darting back inside Erebor and lips white. He spat out a most virulent epithet. Nori mouthed it to himself with a sudden half-grin. He’d have to remember that one. It was sure to shock Dori to the tips of his sensible, proper boots. 

The man strode towards the battlefield, the horse kept close by a firm grip on the reins. As the man searched the hard ground underfoot for signs, Nori eyed Erebor’s gates themselves. It was a long shot, but he jogged along one long door to peek behind its girth. Nothing. 

Bard must have seen him, for he was well on his way towards the opposite door’s end. When the man reached it, his body stiffened sufficiently to have Nori flat-out run to his side. Gasping for breath, Nori peered around the man and spotted an empty cart and bodies.

“Janes,” Bard said in a low and angry voice. “And Royal Guard Lannor.” The man met Nori’s gaze. “The windlance was on that cart.”

Aye, and their task just became a mountain or two more impossible. “We’ll need to be telling Thorin.”

The two jogged out further into a dusky, bat-induced twilight. Nori whistled at the impossible sight around him, then he ducked as a bat darted into his face. He swatted at it. And the one after that. Bard did likewise as they made their way towards the rear of their forces. 

“Nori!”

Nori spun around and found Fíli disengaging from an enemy, retreating and allowing Balin to deal with the orcs before him. The elder Durin hurried to him, his face streaked with a mixture of black and red blood. 

“How fare those within?” Fíli asked, both blades in his hands dripping gore. The heir’s eyes never strayed from the battlefield as he asked his question. 

“I’d ask the same, but I can see for myself,” Nori muttered. The fight went ill, and that was no exaggeration. “Fíli, where is your uncle?”

Fíli’s chin jerked by way of answering. Following as indicated, Nori finally spotted the King Under the Mountain – of course in the thickest part of the battle. The thief had not the time to fight his way to his side. Nori swung his mace in frustration, smashing bat bodies but doing little to counter the sheer numbers of the beasties. He’d never seen aught like it. 

“Nori?” Fíli pressed, a thread of command entering his voice. 

Nori did a double-take. For a moment, Fíli had sounded just like their king. Bofur had warned them, hadn’t he, about the change in the heir since Lake-town. Nori decided Bofur was right. There was more of Thorin in Fíli than they’d suspected. Leaving off at swinging at the bats, Nori said, “Foul, but not so bad as it could have been.”

“Smaug?”

“He’s in there, right enough. Our young satyr is leading him a merry chase, granting us time to evacuate to the Old Keep.”

Fíli’s brows climbed. “The Old Keep?” A short shake of his head. “There is no way out from there.”

Aye, so he’d thought, but where else could the vulnerable go? “We have a wee bit of a problem,” Nori said.

“A _wee_ bit of a problem?” Fíli echoed in disbelief. 

“The windlance is gone,” Bard interrupted with thinly veiled impatience. 

Fíli’s head whipped around. “What?”

Nori nodded once. “Aye. We found the cart and the remains of a man and elf beside it, but the windlance is nowhere to be seen.”

Fíli’s jaw hardened, and his nostrils flared. “None of our people have had time to consider the windlance.” Then lower, Fíli’s face turning rigid, “Azog has yet to make an appearance.”

At first, Nori did not follow. When he did, his eyes widened and his head whipped back towards Erebor. Azog…in there? Ori. Dori would skin him alive should harm come to their brother, and Nori would let him. 

“Azog? The orc who led the invasion of Lake-town?” Bard demanded. 

“Aye. The same one,” Nori said.

“He should be leading this army,” Fíli informed the man.

Nori again turned to Erebor’s open gates. “Why would he venture into Erebor? All this time, he’s sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. You’d think he’d be seizing this chance at Thorin.”

Fíli seemed to freeze in place. “He’s still after Daphne.” His lips compressed. “A group of wargs rushed inside not minutes ago. We are fools,” the heir spat. “Of course the enemy would seek her again.”

OoOoOo

Bilbo had been about to remove the Ring from his finger when he heard Fíli’s terse words. His gaze flew across the way to where Thorin was barely visible, swallowed up by enemies, elves, and dwarves alike. He’d promised Aleks he’d watch over their king, but if Fíli was correct, Thorin was no longer the one being targeted by the Pale Orc, Daphne was. Wargs were after her. Thorin had Bifur, Bombur and Bofur all watching out for him. Without Azog, how threatened was the King Under the Mountain?

“Why would the enemy be after Daphne?” Bard demanded.

Fíli’s lips compressed. “Nori, you need to find Azog,” Fíli ordered. “Try not to be seen. He doesn’t know Erebor, so he’ll be wandering.” A pause. “And find Aleks for me.”

Nori hesitated. “Fíli, you do remember I told you he was leading Smaug about, aye?”

Fíli’s pale eyes slashed Nori’s way. “We both know how that game will end.”

“It may have already come to that.” 

At Nori’s bald words, Bilbo removed the ring and stepped into their midst. The elder Durin nodded silently to Bilbo in greeting, but his attention remained upon Nori. 

“Explain,” Fíli commanded. 

“This critter here,” Nori said, pointing a blunt, grimy finger at the animal on his shoulder, “I got from Mistress Daphne.”

Fíli’s gaze flicked towards the animal.

“It’s not doing anything unusual-like. I don’t think Aleks is looking through its eyes, and Aleks knew we were getting the windlance. He was to lead Smaug to us when we had it ready for the dragon.”

Bilbo weighed his options. “Where is Daphne?” he asked Nori. 

“The lass is with Oin and the healers. She’s with the group headed to the Old Keep,” Nori informed him. 

Fíli nodded his head. “With two Royal Guards to protect her as well.”

“Nay,” Nori denied. “Only one.”

 _What happened to the other?_ Bilbo didn’t like the sound of that, not at all. He’d traveled with the Royal Guards Belegon and Brethil. He knew how serious they were about their duty. Still, Daphne would be surrounded by people. Aleks’s plight was the more immediate. Bilbo firmed his shoulders and stepped closer. “Fíli, I’ll find Aleks.” 

“Bilbo,” Fíli began to object.

“I can search unseen. It wouldn’t be safe for anyone else.”

“Mahal,” Fíli said at last. “Very well, Bilbo. Find our satyr if you can. Be alert. Azog…”

“…walks your Halls. Yes, I heard.” Straightening his coat, Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well. I shall see you later.” A bob of his head, and he placed the Ring back on his finger and hurried into Erebor.

OoOoOo

Nori’s gaze remained on their wee hobbit until he disappeared.

“Nori,” Fíli said, drawing his attention. “Ori?”

“With Mistress Hunt headed towards the Old Keep,” Nori answered quickly.

“That should appease Bofur’s worry,” Fíli said with a soft snort. 

Nori chuckled. “So it should. Shall I tell him ere I go?”

Fíli shook his head. “I’ll tell him. And Dori.” Then more seriously, “This is no safe duty I’ve given you.”

“Find a party of orcs, perhaps led by the most fearsome of the bunch in an Age?” A brief smile. “Do you suppose they’ll be carrying anything of value?” 

Leaving Bard with half of the Black Arrows, Nori collected the others and stuffed them in his coat before he retreated into Erebor in search of Azog and, he hoped, the windlance. There was always the chance Azog had taken the weapon with him. If not, Nori despaired of them ever winning free of the dragon.

OoOoOo

Fíli turned his attention to Lord Bard. “Have we not done this before?” he asked with tired amusement.

The man’s eyes glinted for a brief moment in return. “No offense, but this is not something I’d ever hoped to repeat.”

“Aye,” Fíli agreed vehemently, his voice grim. “Nor I.”

“We need that windlance,” Bard told him with a sigh of pure frustration. “I’ll grab some of my men and search out here. It’s a long shot, but what other hope have we?” Fíli had no answer, and the man must not have expected one for he lifted one hand in farewell before collaring a handful of the men fighting nearby and giving them instructions. 

Fíli left him to it. Rotating his shoulders, he steeled himself to return to the fray when a gruff, “Back,” in Khuzdul had him whipping about. 

Bifur. A ghost of a grin broke through Fíli’s exhaustion, and he nudged the older dwarf with one elbow. _Mahal._ That was one less worry. They’d become separated a bit ago, and it relieved him to no end to find Bifur remained among the living. 

“I’d begun to worry,” Fíli said.

Bifur grunted, the butt of his boar spear resting upon the ground as his eyes turned to Erebor’s gates, a clear question there.

In Khuzdul, Fíli informed the older toymaker, “It seems our satyr has decided to play bait to keep Smaug from the others.”

Bifur muttered something incomprehensible and rubbed his gray-streaked beard with one hand. 

“You took the words straight from my mouth,” Fíli said. Then more soberly. “The enemy is hunting for Daphne again. Aye,” he agreed as Bifur tensed. “We were fools to believe she’d not be the enemy’s focus. We need to warn Thorin and decide what is to be done.” Fíli waited only long enough for Bifur to give him a nod before he strode back towards battle. With swords raised, he began to fight his way to his uncle.


	52. Losing More Ground

### Chapter 51

Nori pursed his lips, fingers tapping upon his thigh. Now, if he were an orc – and if orcs had indeed entered Erebor – which way would he go? ‘twas a shame so many had rushed through here in the last day. Any tracks through the dust and grime had been fouled. He thought he spotted an indication or two of a paw print, but what use was that when the prints disappeared a handful of yards into the First Hall? Mayhap Kíli could make sense of what was left beyond that, but Kíli was not here, leaving Nori in a bit of a quandary.

 _You’re not going to find anything if you don’t pick a direction._

Right. Figuring the orcs would move the windlance down the closest passageway, he turned to his right and headed in that direction. 

Smaug was so distant, he could barely hear him. Nori’s eyes turned to the chipmunk upon his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you’re there, Aleks?” A pause and a sigh. “No, I thought not. Didn’t think it would be so easy.” 

The chipmunk yawned and slunk beneath his tunic. In short order, the wee beastie was sound asleep.

OoOoOo

Bofur could not concentrate. A sad state, really, for a blooded warrior to be in, but there it was. With every foe he faced, he saw instead that werewolf and heard the creature’s brazen claim that he was taking Bofur’s lass with him. Duty had kept Bofur beside his king when Smaug entered Erebor, but Smaug had not been after his Daphne. This matter with the werewolves was completely different.

Bofur exchanged blows with his short sword, his pickax at his side and ready, when a mace swung out from his right. He’d not even noticed the orc until now. Only Bombur’s quick intervention turned a strike sure to remove his arm from his body – and likely a good chunk of his torso, too, if not for the mail he wore – into a hit that tore a swath of leather and skin from his unprotected arm. 

Bombur finished the orc for him, and Thorin thrust him to the rear. His king’s iron gray eyes pierced him. “I know, my friend. I need you just a little longer. I’m pulling us out of here. Can you stay with me a little longer?”

Bofur managed a short bob of the head. Firming his grip upon his weapons and ignoring the pain that flared along his right arm, he returned to his position, shielding his king as Thorin began to move them back with slow steps.

OoOoOo

Marcus returned to human form, commanding Troy to do the same. On bare feet, they followed the rest of the Pack as they pursued Daphne’s distinctive scent. That the things invading outside seemed to be taking the same path worried him. “What is this place?”

Troy had been gaping at his surroundings even in wolf-form. Marcus didn’t blame him, but they had weightier matters to attend to than sightseeing. “This mountain?” Troy asked. At Marcus’s impatient nod, he answered, “Erebor. This place is called Erebor. It’s one of the dwarves’ kingdoms.”

Marcus growled. That told him nothing. “How big is it?”

Troy swallowed, hazel eyes sidling away from his. “Big.”

 _“How_ big?” Marcus demanded with exasperation. 

“Tolkien never actually said,” Troy said defensively. “I know this is the Battle of Five Armies. The Elvenking, you saw. Oakenshield. I wonder if Bilbo was out there.”

“Troy,” Marcus snapped. 

The younger man jumped. “You don’t understand. This story, these people, they are famous back home.”

“Bully for them. But if we don’t find and return with our naiads, home and everyone in it is lost to us,” he said. He gestured at the hall around him. “Those creatures from outside are following this same trail.”

“Orcs,” Troy corrected, his head bobbing in a jerky nod. “I know, I know. It’s just… The elves and dwarves aren’t the bad guys.”

Marcus growled low in his throat. He knew that. He hated the position he’d been forced into. He’d still have argued over that dwarf and elf claiming his wards – he was a possessive wolf and knew it – but he’d likely have granted them the twins if not for the echnari and their cursed demands. “So long as they stand between me and the good of the Pack, they are just that.”

A terrific roar rattled through the massive hallway they progressed through. Marcus’s gaze again cut to his younger packmate. “What is that?”

Troy’s wide eyes stared ahead where the source of the sound originated. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

_“Who?”_

Saucer-sized eyes turned to Marcus. “Smaug. A dragon, Alpha. A real-live, fire-breathing dragon.”

“A dragon.”

Troy nodded wildly. 

Marcus inhaled. _Perfect._ Prowling after his Pack, he growled under his breath. That echnari might have been handy right about now. Surely Muriste could take down a dragon. But instead, the idiot Old One remained outside when her quarry was in here. With a _dragon,_ his mind helpfully reiterated. 

_Three hours and forty-five minutes left._

OoOoOo

Thorin stared at his heir with a short shake of the head. “What say you?” Thorin rasped, uncertain he’d heard him correctly. He’d been steadily withdrawing from the battle, determined to seek out the Elvenking to change their tactics, when Fíli had reappeared.

“I said I believe I know where Azog may be found,” Fíli repeated loudly. 

A goblin’s pike thrust out, and grazed Thorin’s thigh. Thorin responded with a wide sweep of Orcrist that forced goblins back as a bat slammed into his brow and opened a gash there. _Cursed things._ Between the battle wounds they all collected and the damage inflicted by the bats, how in Mahal’s name were they supposed to hold? Too many had wounds that bled freely into their eyes, or had lost an eye altogether courtesy of the winged terrors.

 _Aleks, where are you?_ If their satyr had remained at his perch, he’d have summoned some help by now. Perhaps owls or hawks. That no help was forthcoming filled him with foreboding. 

“How came you by this knowledge?” Thorin asked Fíli as they fought side-by-side. Bracketing them were Bofur and Bifur. The younger toymaker remained silent. Small wonder. As much as the need to pursue those werewolves weighed upon Thorin, that drive must be a dozen times more demanding for Bofur. Thorin had been a heartbeat away from ordering the toymaker into Erebor for just that reason. Prudence held his tongue. He’d not send Bofur alone, and until their position was altered, he could not spare anyone. 

“The windlance is gone, Uncle.”

“Gone?” Bombur asked sharply from his position near Kíli. 

_Gone. Mahal._ Thorin knew he should have anticipated such a move, should have prevented it. By Durin’s beard, how were they supposed to destroy the dragon without the windlance? The outrage that had roiled within his breast at the werewolves’ appearance now flared to new heights, and Thorin unleashed that fury upon the goblins and orcs nearest at hand. _Filthy, unnatural creatures._ He spat out a curse in Khuzdul, earning him a cocked brow and minute smirk from Bifur. 

But that wasn’t the full of it. Fíli spared him one, short glance. “Wargs raced into Erebor. I could do nothing to stop them. I sent Bilbo after Aleks.” Another short glance. “Aleks has taken it upon himself to lead the dragon from the others, Uncle.” 

_Mahal,_ Thorin thought once again, aghast. Though proud of Aleks for his willingness to sacrifice his own well-being for others, Thorin decided he might just throttle the lad for so foolish a venture. And worse, Fíli had sent Bilbo after him. _He must not know of Bilbo’s importance._ Cursed secrets and silences! Should they survive this battle, he was going to sit them all down and insist Mistress Hunt share everything.

Fíli continued after a short pause. “I sent Nori in search of Azog. I believe the orc is after Daphne, Uncle.”

It fit. By Durin, Fíli’s reasoning fit. Thorin could have roared in frustration. He _did_ shove Bofur again out of harm’s way, for the toymaker rocked with the blow of Fíli’s words. At last, the reason for Azog’s absence became clear. “Those were not wargs,” he informed his nephew. With a guttural growl, he commanded Fíli, “With me.” He gave no other warning as he cleared as many goblins as he could as he retreated one pace, then two. Step for step, Fíli, Bofur and Bifur matched him until they retreated to the back of the battle lines.

“What do you mean, they were not wargs?” Fíli shouted over the din.

“Werewolves,” Kíli informed his brother. 

Fíli’s head whipped around. “You mean the creatures from Aleks’s stories?” A pause. _“Here?”_

“Inside Erebor,” Bofur said, his voice rough with frustration. “Looking to reacquire our naiads.”

Fíli turned to Thorin for confirmation. Thorin inclined his head, answer enough for Fíli to thin his lips and frown heavily. Once clear of heavy fighting, Thorin scanned the defenders until he found the soul he sought. The Elvenking battled on beside his men and the elfess captain. From the intensity of his gaze as it collided with Thorin’s, the dwarf king suspected he’d heard every word of the exchange with Fíli. 

Cutting down enemy forces, his dwarves beside him, Thorin made a path to the Elvenking until only a silver-haired guard in green stood between them. Gandalf join them, the wizard as rent and blood-drenched as the rest of them.

“Sire, you called for me?” Gandalf said, a bit out of breath.

Thorin wasted no time with frivolous greetings, nor did he wait for Thranduil’s answer. “You heard?” Thorin asked the elf in a rough voice. 

“I did. The windlance has been stolen,” the Elvenking informed Gandalf. 

“Azog, most likely,” Fíli offered. 

“Stolen?” Gandalf asked. 

“Bard and Nori found bodies. We believe orcs have ventured into Erebor. Azog is likely with them,” Thorin informed the wizard. 

Gandalf straightened, his grip on his staff tightening. “He could only be after Mistress Hunt. Where is she? Tell me she is guarded.”

“She is with Oin and Ori,” Fíli told the wizard. 

“I left two Royal Guards to protect her as well,” Thranduil added. “They will not be easily overcome by Azog.”

“Aye, but if Azog is not alone? What happens then, laddie?” Gloin groused. 

A spurt of amusement penetrated Thorin’s anger. Little did the elf like being called a lad by one so much younger than himself. “Can you kill the dragon?” Thorin asked Gandalf. 

Gandalf’s eyes flickered, a frown appearing on his brow as he looked out over the fields. “The dragon is the least of my worries.”

In what circumstance could a _dragon_ rank low among the wizard’s worries? “Explain,” Thorin demanded. 

“A power is here,” Gandalf answered, a gravely worried look upon his face. 

“The Dark Lord?” Thranduil asked. Thorin felt the question superfluous. Who else could it be?

Yet, the wizard shook his head in a slow negative. “No, this is not Sauron. This is something different.”

Different? 

Thranduil’s face hardened into severe angles. “Did you witness our confrontation with the werewolves from the naiads’ home realm?” the elf asked in a chillingly mild tone. 

Gandalf’s head whipped around. “No, I did not.” Blazing hazel eyes turned to Thorin. “More from their realm have arrived?”

“Aye,” Gloin answered impatiently. The orcs and goblins surged forward, and the Elvenking’s armies were hard pressed to keep them at bay. Thorin and the others backed up further. 

“They demanded the return of our naiads,” Thorin said harshly. _Never,_ he again repeated to himself. 

At his words, Gandalf’s eyes flickered, and Thorin drew himself up to his full height. The Elvenking responded, too, he noted. The elf’s composed face seemed to radiate a sudden, icy hostility. 

“Gandalf, you cannot think to abandon them.” Thorin said. 

Gandalf turned to him with an apologetic look. “The Dark Lord hunts them, my king. Aleks saved Mistress Hunt, but at the cost of his own anonymity. They cannot remain in Middle Earth. Not with the knowledge they bear.”

“You intend to let these werewolves take them?” he asked in disbelief.

“No,” Fíli proclaimed, voicing Thorin’s own sentiment. “They belong to us. They belong _here.”_

Gandalf’s eyes drifted again to the field before them. “They are not of our world.”

“So we allow them to be returned to the world that almost destroyed them?” Thorin asked, his outrage growing. 

Gandalf frowned. “We may have no choice. That power I sense must surely originate from their realm as well. It may have come for them.”

“An Old One,” Thranduil labeled. 

Bofur reacted like he’d been slapped. “Care to repeat that?”

Gandalf, too, homed in upon the elf, intent upon his answer. 

Thranduil turned to the toymaker. “The only powers from their realm of note were from Faerie. The Old Ones. So my daughter informed me. You recognize the term?”

“Aye,” Bofur said, white-lipped. 

Thranduil turned to Gandalf, “She is deathly afraid of them, and for good reason. You will not hand her over to that creature. I’ll not stand for it.” 

“Uncle,” Fíli said. “Those werewolves are _inside Erebor._ We need to act now.” 

Thorin again cursed in Khuzdul. Returning to Erebor meant dealing with Smaug. One could hope the dragon might dispose of their unwelcome werewolves, but Thorin doubted their luck would improve so drastically. “We need that windlance.”

“We do not have it,” Thranduil said. Blue fire filled the elf’s eyes as they briefly returned to him. “It will make removing the beast from your Halls all but impossible.”

“I am well aware,” Thorin bit back. 

Thranduil seemed to come to a decision. “We’ll not abandon our naiads,” he decreed. “But we are losing these plains. Oakenshield, I suggest we take a more defensive posture.”

Thorin was nodding before the elf finished. So he’d come to conclude, too. “We hold at the gates.”

“Indeed. That will allow some of us to pursue the werewolves and Azog,” Thranduil continued. To Bofur, the elf continued, “You protect my daughter, toymaker. You keep her safe, keep her _here,_ and you will have my blessing.”

Even Thorin was taken aback. 

Bofur’s eyes gleamed, and he rocked back on his heels, nodding. “Aye, she’ll be safe, Elvenking,” Bofur said. “I’ll not be allowing them to take her anywhere.” Questioning eyes turned to Thorin. 

Thorin nodded. “We retreat into the mountain. Once that is done, Bofur, you will run to the Old Keep. Take the narrow paths.”

“Mayhap Azog will remove the werewolves for us,” Bombur muttered. 

“Or the other way around,” Fíli agreed.

“Legolas and a team of my elves will aid the toymaker,” Thranduil interrupted. The elf did not wait for any acknowledgment but instead called out orders in Sindarin. Instantly, elves began an orderly retreat.

“Gandalf, do you aid us?” Thorin asked while the elves’ lines reformed as they coalesced and fell back towards the First Hall. The men noted their movements, and one of them rushed to the Elvenking’s side. 

Before the man could ask, Fíli turned to him. “Geffin, we are pulling back into the First Hall. Call the retreat.”

The man swiped sweat from his face and nodded. “Fall back,” he hollered. _“Fall back!”_

Thorin waited, gaze locked onto the wizard. “Gandalf?” he asked with impatience.

“For now,” the wizard responded shortly. “I must fly to the ramparts. That power has not acted yet, but I fear it will.”

“What about the dragon?” Gloin asked. 

“The dragon must wait,” Thorin heard Gandalf murmur.

OoOoOo

Radagast looked down upon the fields of Erebor from beneath the trees along the eastern banks of the Long Lake. Beside him, Beorn watched, cracking his knuckles with a ferocious scowl upon his face. Beyond the skin-changer stood Caranoran Thranduilion, last-borne of the Elvenking’s get.

“You are certain?” the elven prince asked, his hands tight upon the hilt of his sword. 

_“I_ am not,” Radagast said, abandoning any attempt at dissembling. “Lady Yavanna and Lord Aulë, however, are adamant.” He turned steely eyes upon the elf. “You cannot even hint of my presence. More lives ride upon this than you know.”

“A whole race,” Beorn said, now flexing his hands. 

“And more,” Radagast said. “Do not betray that you located me or that I am here. I will act when my time comes.” To the elf, “This will not be easy for you.” He leveled a finger at the prince. “You must trust.” A pause. “When the time comes, you must let them go. Remember my words.”

“Go?” the prince echoed, bemused.

“You will understand. Heed me or all is lost. _Let them go.”_

Both elf and skin-changer nodded. 

Radagast thumped his staff upon the ground a few times, thinking. “They hole up in the mountain.”

“They have little choice,” Caranoran burst out with impatience. 

Radagast threw him a reproving look. “It means that should the Pale Orc succeed in locating and capturing the dryad, the front gate is barred to him.”

Caranoran’s eyes flared. The prince’s head whirled in another direction. “You say the dwarves entered Erebor from a second location?” 

Radagast smiled. “That is your destination. Beorn, you can find it?”

The shape-changer grunted an affirmative, arms crossed before his bare chest. “The dwarves’ scent trail will lead me to it.” 

_Good enough,_ Radagast thought. Then with more urgency, “Both of you, hurry. You must stop Azog should he get so far.”

“What of you?” Beorn asked. 

Radagast waved a hand, flapping away such questions. He’d told them enough. They had their duties, and he had his. Though he did not say as much to them, too much yet remained that was uncertain. 

Leaving the two, he hurried to his sled. He must locate the Old One, and quickly. Such a creature could not be left unhindered. So long as it walked upon Middle Earth, it had to be watched, and closely.

OoOoOo

Bilbo deposited a piece of rubble at the entrance to yet another soaring archway. He’d collected as many such pieces as his pockets could fit, hoping if placed judiciously, they would mark his course, enabling him to retrace his steps if need be. Each was placed with care just inside the mouth of a passageway and always to his right, snug against the wall.

An echoing roar shook the walls. He took that as encouragement, for Smaug would not be railing against Aleks if the satyr had been slain – or so Bilbo hoped. But it also made his knees knock together to venture _towards_ that ruckus. Smaug knew the “Barrel Rider’s” scent. The Ring would not save him should he stray too close. 

Keeping his footsteps light, Bilbo hurried down this newest hallway, hoping for some sign of his friend.

OoOoOo

Aleks moaned low in his throat, a whimper not far behind. Burning. Everything was _burning._ Nerves screamed a never ending clarion of agony, so much so that he was afraid to open his eyes and look. Did any skin remain upon his body? Muscles ached like meat that had been mechanically tenderized, but that pain – a pain he’d have labeled unbearable before – barely made a blip on his pain radar compared to the burns.

Aleks shuddered as he inhaled, his eyes snapping open upon hearing the thundering impact of angry dragon footsteps. “Thief!” Smaug roared from halls – and likely floors – away. “Disfigurer! You cannot escape me. I _smell_ you.” A mighty crash served to punctuate the dragon’s words, so loud that it reverberated through the very stone.

He was going to have to move. Lying here on his back, he couldn’t imagine it, but he _had to move._ Aleks tried to lever himself up onto his elbows, but he flopped back down as a new level of agony flared through him. Instinct drew a desperate summons from him: _Daphne!_

For a second, he detected both chipmunks and saw his sister’s wide eyes and Nori’s grim face. The link with his sister flared, too, and he felt her fear for him. Then, everything unraveled, the links falling away. He fought as his eyesight dimmed and darkened, desperate to remain awake. 

He ground his teeth together, fighting to remain conscious. Slowly, too slowly, his sight cleared. Rallying, he tried once more to prop himself up, Smaug’s destructive passage all the incentive a guy could need. Burned fingertips shrieked as he forced them to grapple with uneven stone. 

A breathy sob escaped him. He’d never dreamed it was possible to experience this much pain. Every nerve in his body felt seared raw, flaming with each twitch of a muscle. “God,” he cried, pleading for aid. “Eru…help.”

A small tongue lapped at his cheek, and a low whine filled his ears. 

“Hey buddy,” he managed with a wheezing little laugh. “You should probably run. Dragon’s coming.”

The little fox whined again, then yipped in a clear command, a note of urgency in his tone. 

“I should probably name you,” he muttered. “Not Ted. Definitely not Ted.”

Aleks dragged himself to the nearest wall, his stomach convulsing at the tormenting pain each movement generated. He had to stop part way to empty his belly, vomiting over and over again, and crying as the violent motions upped his agony. 

Through it all, the fox whimpered and urged him on until Aleks managed pull and shove his way to his feet, quaking like a leaf the entire time. He forced his legs to move in a shambling run. Smaug was not in sight, and Aleks aimed to keep it that way. If his scent drew the dragon, he had to stay mobile. 

It was only much later that he realized he’d left his duffle and Ruger behind.

OoOoOo

The Old Keep lived up to its name, for it exuded an air of dusty age and solidity. Etched from the rearmost stone face of a massive cavern, it was the epitome of a dead end. The sloped, rock bridge we’d been traveling upon had turned into a wide hallway with only one destination: the Keep. There were no turn-offs, no side rooms or stairwells elsewhere. The only real upside? The golden glow provided by mirrors remained undamaged here.

 _Until sunset._ I’d lost all awareness of the passage of time. I had no idea how far away nightfall might be. 

Inside the Keep, it was close quarters, indeed. The humans and elves had to remain hunched over – that or crawl on all fours – as we filed inside the small entrance. I think everyone expected to feel relief, but what we found inside the Keep dashed that to smithereens. Skeletons, desiccated and yellowed, filled many of the hallways and rooms, silent witnesses reminding us just how dire our plight had become, for we knew these must have been dwarves who had sought out the dubious shelter of the Old Keep during Smaug’s first invasion. 

These pour souls had never left. They’d huddled here and died. _Like we’re going to do,_ a pessimistic inner voice proclaimed. I told it to shut up, but with such a sight before me, the possibility was hard to dismiss.

Jittery. That was the only way to describe my state as we followed the torch-lit passages to a big, squat room a hundred yards or so from the entrance. I couldn’t pinpoint why my sense of alarm was growing, but if Ori hadn’t allowed me to clamp onto his hand, I might have had a full-blown panic-attack and raced from the Keep. Even with his hold, I found myself taking deep breaths and flinching at every shadow. 

The elves and Oin must have worked quickly, for when I stepped into the room rapidly being converted into an infirmary, it was free of the dead, brightly lit, and somewhat cleaner than the rest of the place. Stretchers were placed upon the floor, and the healers were back at work. The scent of blood and perforated innards was cloying, but my promise to Bofur kept me in that room. It’d told him I’d stay near Oin. Ionor’s earlier rebuke had struck a nerve. Smell or no smell, I resolved to stay. 

Most of the refugees spilled off to other rooms nearby, filling the Keep from the infirmary outward. Freija and Hydi opted to join me inside the infirmary. They claimed a patch of grimy floor and sank down with relieved sighs and wrinkled noses at the stench. Josan must have nodded off some time during our trek for he snoozed against his mother’s chest. 

I leaned against the wall beside them and continued to take deep breaths. Why was I so freaked? It was driving me nuts, this hyper-fearful state that only grew as the minutes stretched on. Was it Aleks? Was something bleeding through our link without me being aware of it? 

Ionor seated himself tailor-style nearby, his gaze hooded and watchful. I was safe, drat it all, so what was up with me? I should have been wrist-deep in bloody wounds, aiding the injured, but as I was, I knew I’d be of little use to anyone. The knowledge pestered me, heaping coals of guilt upon my head, but I could not prod myself to do more than breathe, my hands adopting a fine tremor that Ori spotted with a frown. 

“Daphne?” Ori fidgeted as if unsure whether to pat my hand or something. 

My fingers found Bofur’s bracelet and settled there. I closed my eyes and dredged up my toymaker’s grin. The wretched feeling eased back a space, and I exhaled slowly. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

 _Define “alright”._ “I’m not sure,” I confessed, opening my eyes. 

“What is wrong?” Freija interrupted, her pixie face creased with lines of worry. 

My answering laugh was none too comforting. “I don’t know,” I told her. “Maybe the stress is getting to me.” Even I didn’t buy that. 

Hydi frowned up at me as she rubbed her son’s back. Josan was out cold after the long trek up staircase after staircase and down too many passages to remember. “Perhaps some tea?”

I flapped one hand. “I feel unnerved,” I admitted. “Panicky.” Was it Aleks? Or was it just me having a meltdown? The last few weeks had not been easy between the tree-fiasco, the orcs chasing us through Mirkwood, the orcs chasing us through Lake-town, Smaug, and then this. I supposed my life back in Caliente had not prepared me for the emotional rollercoaster that was Middle Earth. 

Bah, maybe it was time I stopped being a drama queen and get back to work. With a big inhale, I left my perch. “I’ll help Oin.”

I made it all of four steps before my clobbered-together resolve was destroyed with all the abruptness of being chucked off a cliff. My brother’s desperate call slashed through my mind. _“Daphne!”_ In that instant, we were linked. The awful, burning pain consuming his body was mine. Confusion roiled through him along with a heaping dose of desperation. Aleks was weak and disoriented but driven to press on with the sound of Smaug’s furious threats echoing through the halls around him. 

“Lady?” The steady scrape of Ionor’s whetstone upon his blade ceased. 

I swallowed a lump nausea. Smaug had burned my brother. Based upon the pain he was experiencing, it was serious. My promise to Bofur again returned to me. But _Aleks._ How could I ignore him when he needed me? Who else stood a chance of finding him in this convoluted mountain? I attempted to dredge fingers through my hair, only to be stopped short at the sight of their inflamed state. 

I remembered the gentle care Bofur had taken in wrapping bandages around them. _Forgive me,_ I thought. If there was one thing I knew about Bofur, though, it was that he understood the concept of family. 

_Aleks, I’m coming,_ I tried to send. I sprinted the healers’ collection of medicinals, shoving what I suspected I’d need into the sling and disturbing Alice, all the while trying to hold onto the tenuous link between us. My twin needed me. He’d called for me. (I almost wept at that. He truly did trust me now, and it touched me beyond measure.) I’d messed so much up in our past. I wouldn’t fail him. Not here. Not now. 

The thread disintegrated through my mental fingers, and the sense of him vaporized with it. _No!_ If I’d had time, I would have stamped my feet upon the ground and howled loudly enough to shake the roof. No, blast it all! No!

As more odds and ends found their way into the sling, the chipmunk clawed her way out, scolding with high-pitched squeaks as she scaled my arm to my shoulder.

“Lady?” Ionor asked, materializing at my side, his sword still unsheathed. 

Right behind him, another, kinder voice – Ori’s – asked, “Daphne? Is it Aleks?”

“Mistress Hunt?” A hand touched my arm. Oin.

I clapped my hand around Oin’s. “I need your help,” I told him. “Smaug got Aleks.”

Alarm filled the older dwarf’s face, and Ori gasped. 

“No,” Ionor said adamantly. 

I glared at my hunched-over guard. “No Aleks, no plan. Smaug runs free.” I jerked my chin, indicating the hallway outside the infirmary. “Take a good look out that door, Royal Guard. That is our future if Smaug is not dealt with.”

Movement to my other side, but Ionor’s flared nostrils and stormy expression demanded my attention. “Lady,” he said with forced patience. “The king would forbid this. You swore to that dwarf.”

“I know,” I burst. “Believe me, I know. But this is my twin. I can find him,” I shrilled.

“You swore to remain with Oin!” Ionor bellowed hard enough to blow hair off my face, his nose inches from mine and his green eyes blazing.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ll be joining you,” Oin declared. 

What? Ionor and I abandoned our glare-fest and homed in upon the old healer. 

Oin lifted one bushy brow. “Have ye ever tended someone burned by dragon fire?” he asked me.

I shook my head numbly. I didn’t even want to picture Aleks’s condition.

Oin grunted. “I have.” As if that settled it, he grabbed his healer’s satchel and added a thing or three from the supplies laid out on a shelf from the elves’ supplies. “We’d best be hurrying.” With a kind expression, the white-haired dwarf reclaimed his hand and patted my cheek. “Aleks is a member of the Company. Of course I am coming.”

“Guard Ionor?” 

“Lady?”

Deep inhale. “We have to do this,” I entreated. “Smaug has to die. For all these people,” I said, indicating the healers and refugees in the room, “For those fighting for their lives outside these walls.” My eyes lifted to his. “The Elvenking will come for his people. We have to do this for him, too.”

Ionor stared at me long and hard. Then, a spate of frustrated Sindarin fell from his lips. 

“You know I’m right.”

He scowled at me. “I will aid you, but I suspect my king may well banish me for this decision.”

“Then we won’t tell him,” I said with false enthusiasm. 

The elf rolled his eyes. “Mortals,” he muttered. 

I touched his arm. “He’s my brother.”

Grass-green eyes stared down into mine with burning intensity. “You truly trust him? After what he did?”

So he’d heard about it, too. “I do.”

The guard sighed. “Very well.”

“Thank you.”

The guard waved that away. With Ori insistent upon tagging along, four of us left the Old Keep together. 

_Aleks?_

Static. So much old-style T.V. fuzz. Hoping I wasn’t going to make myself a liar, that I really could find my twin, I cradled the sling and its chipmunk. And I prayed I wasn’t going to get all of us very, very dead.

OoOoOo

“Look.”

At Beorn’s gruff summons, Caranoran eased over to the rocky ledge hugging the side of the Lonely Mountain and looked down. 

“Those men are trapped,” Beorn continued, his big finger pointing at the five hidden from the orcs and goblins by the walls of the ditch they occupied. The five looked to be trying to heft something from the depression with little luck. 

Caranoran sighed, bowing to the inevitable. He was not certain the men below had realized their plight as of yet, but he could not abandon allies. At least Beorn had proved to be as agile as an elf. They had climbed to this vantage point quickly enough. Descending would not take too terribly long, and they’d yet be able to keep this switchback in sight. If Azog emerged, he’d not get past them.

Without a word, the prince began his descent.

OoOoOo

Thranduil surveyed the First Hall with one brisk look. They could hold here, he thought, for weeks, maybe months without the dragon’s interference. _Eru grant it not come to that._ “Captain,” he summoned, gaining the elleth’s instant attention. “To the ramparts. Take our archers with you.”

“Sire.” Tauriel bowed before collecting their remaining archers and heading for the stairs. 

“Adar?”

Meeting Oakenshield’s eyes, Thranduil instructed his son, “Legolas, select a dozen warriors. You’ll be going with the toymaker after those werewolves. They intend to take Hwinneth back to their own lands. Do not let them.” 

From beside him, he saw his son nod. 

“They heal quickly,” Oakenshield told them. “So Aleks told us. Silver is the only thing that will cause lasting damage.”

Thranduil’s brows rose. “I daresay being sliced to pieces would slow them down.”

Thorin snorted, a small smile appearing on his lips. How, Thranduil wanted to know, was it possible that they were now so allied in their purposes? The naiads had done more than he’d dreamed possible, bringing elves and dwarves together. 

“I imagine they would not enjoy meeting Orcrist, either,” Gandalf said as he joined them. To Oakenshield, “It is a weapon of the First Age, my king. Even a Nazgûl would not fare so well against that sword.” Then in a mutter to himself, “Likely, we will have them to contend with as well.”

 _Indeed._ That, however, was tomorrow’s worry. Thranduil drew his swords and strode towards his ellyn, inclining his head to his son as he passed him. He saw Bofur exchanging words with another dwarf before making his way to join Legolas. 

No matter how ill this sat with him, the decision was made. Thranduil would not be as Hwinneth’s former guardian. The werewolf had been a mirror thrust before the Elvenking’s face. Marcus had cared for her physical needs but left his Hwinneth bruised and damaged emotionally. _He_ would not repeat that one’s mistakes. He would see to his daughter’s happiness. Even, he thought, should it mean threatening this dwarf into being the mate she deserved. 

A glimmer of amusement touched him. The dwarf would rue the day he acquired _him_ as an in-law. “Toymaker,” Thranduil called.

The dwarf halted and turned towards him. 

“Good hunting.”

The dwarf saluted him and jogged to where Legolas’s party was forming.

OoOoOo

“Uncle?”

Thorin turned at Kíli’s voice. 

“I should be with the archers.”

Jaw tight, Thorin’s head lifted as he surveyed the elves filing out to fill the balcony he’d threatened them from mere hours before. Folding his arms, he considered his nephew. Kíli’s unflinching regard decided him. “Very well. Join them,” and as Kíli crowed and headed for the stairs, he shouted after him, “Show the elves the towers. They will provide better coverage.” Then spotting Bombur’s wide girth heading after Kíli, he added, “Bombur, get any intact siege weapons manned and loaded.”

“Aye,” the dwarf hollered over one shoulder as he huffed and puffed his way up the stairs. 

A quick search, and he found Fíli aiding the men of Lake-town, adding his own leadership to a blond-haired man’s. Pride filled him. He left his heir as he was and directed his attention to the Elvenking. 

“Elvenking!” he shouted.

The elf halted before he reached the front lines, his head whipping about.

Knowing the elf would hear, he said, “You are in command. I go to consult with our ravens.” A frown. “We need to know where Dain might be.”

The other king dipped his head before lifting his own voice and swords, commanding his elves as they held the gates of Erebor.

OoOoOo

Bard eased back into the ditch with slow care. Dirt cascaded around him as he slipped to the bottom of the hollow. Frustration pounded through his veins. “We’re alone,” he informed the four men with him. Alone. With an entire army betwixt themselves and their allies.

Davin, the oldest of the bunch, raked a dirty hand through his mane of white hair. “What use be this windlance if it is stuck out here with us? The orcs catch sight of us, Master Bard, and we’re as good as dead.”

Bard grimaced, acknowledging his words. They’d heard the retreat being sounded, but in their determination to find the dwarven contraption, they’d failed to notice that prior to that signal, the defenders had lost sufficient ground that there was no safe path for Bard and his men into the mountain. They were trapped, hiding. Eru, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor. 

A shower of dirt off one slope above them had all of the men whirling around with weapons raised. A silver-haired elf leaned over the rim, one finger to his lips. Behind him, a behemoth of a man appeared with black hair and tanned skin. Bare-chested and bare foot, the man had not a single mark upon him from the bats. 

The big man climbed down into the ditch with them, followed by the elf. 

“Caranoran,” the elf introduced himself. “This is Beorn.”

“Bard,” Bard replied, a bit surprised to actually have to crane his neck back to meet the elf’s gaze. “My men - Davin, Boyd, Gunter, and Manfred.” He indicated each in turn with a hand to his chest. 

“We saw your plight from above,” the elf said, his eyes upon the windlance. “Is this what I believe it to be?”

“Windlance,” Davin grunted. “Little use it is out here.”

The elf’s brow arched upward. “Is it needed?”

Bard eyed the elf. “You did not arrive with the Elvenking’s army,” he stated.

The elf shook his head. “No. We arrived well into this battle.”

Bard rested one hand on the windlance. “Then let me tell you what has occurred. There is a dragon, sir elf, inside that mountain.”

“Smaug lives?” Green eyes burned down at him.

“A young…dwarf,” Bard said hesitantly, for he knew now the young man was neither man nor dwarf, “is leading the dragon about to give us time. He is able to speak through animals.”

“Aleks,” Caranoran identified immediately. The elf exchanged a glance with the Beorn. “We’d best bring these men with us.”

Beorn nodded.

“With you?” Bard asked.

Caranoran shot him a brief look as his strange companion hefted the windlance with no aid, holding it as if it weighed little. Bard’s men muttered at the amazing sight. What, Bard wondered, was this man? “There is another entrance into the mountain,” Caranoran told them. “Come. This way.”

OoOoOo

Another distant roar from Smaug, followed by horrendous crashing. Smaug was truly in a berserker rage, furious that Aleks had escaped him.

At least, Aleks thought, for now. He held little hope that the status quo would continue indefinitely. Clearly, Smaug remembered him from the incident with the box of ammo, and based upon the words the dragon roared, Smaug had no intention of stopping until he had revenge. 

_Mahal, are you real?_ The thought escaped him, sudden and fierce. Aleks’s head dropped, and he took a deep, labored breath. Thorin spoke as if Mahal really existed, and Eru, too. Aleks had never believed in a higher deity – he’d left Earth a devout atheist, or so he’d thought. But since coming here, he’d found himself wondering. And now, hoping. 

_Stupid._ Yet as he continued his limping progress, aimless, random, he found himself in almost perpetual prayer. It defied belief, yet there it was. He’d once believed he had to stand alone on his own two feet. That there was no one he could trust but himself. The dwarves had taught him otherwise. They had his back, he had theirs. It wasn’t weakness to let them help. 

Aleks limped around a corner and found himself in a big, cavernous space. There seemed an endless supply of them, so he tried to find some distinctive landmarks and commit them to memory. He had to start somewhere in regaining his bearings. 

The path beneath his feet appeared to be a balcony of some sort overlooking a big square, all of it illuminated by Erebor’s almost perpetual, imported glow. Each footstep echoed hollowly. The place was deserted – to be expected, sure, but it still unnerved him. How many dwarves had lived in Erebor during its heyday? How many had died in here, killed by the same dragon hunting him down? 

Following the balcony’s length, he kept moving. The ever-present agony was so consuming, he nearly shambled right out into the open in clear view of the square below. It shouldn’t have mattered – Smaug’s echoing voice sounded a distance off yet – but suddenly, it did matter. A great deal. 

He heard voices. He wasn’t alone.

Before his brain could process the information and urge him into action, the little dog bit down upon the tattered remains of his pants and jerked once, insistently. The pull of fabric upon his burnt body sent new spears of pain through him, and the persistent, sick sensation that had traveled each step with him intensified. Aleks swallowed bile, desperate not to heave again as he recognized his sudden, immediate danger. 

Aleks stumbled his way back from the balcony’s edge, eyes wide as he got a look at the source of those voices. Orcs. _Azog._ Aleks inhaled sharply. The orc had about twenty soldiers with him, all of them bristling with weapons. The orcs growled at each other in Black Speech, the angry words often sprinkled with shoves as they traversed the open market-like area beneath him. They passed through the remnants of scorched, cobbled booths, kicking debris from their path. 

He dared not peer over the edge of the balcony. If they spotted him, it was game over. No way could he outrun them or fight them. Not like this. 

What were orcs doing here? What was _Azog_ doing here? It made no sense. Ice began to form over his innards. Had he done it? Had Azog already succeeded in killing Thorin? What if the battle was already lost? Desperately, he tried to link up with the two chipmunks – one was still with Nori, wasn’t it? His mind reached out, but the awful pain searing his body kept him from focusing. He couldn’t connect with anything. The links were there, but his mind kept slipping around them like grease. 

His hands began to shake. _Mahal._ This time, he _was_ unashamedly praying, fervently so. _Eru. Anyone. Don’t let them be dead. Please. I’ll do anything. Just…don’t let them be dead._

Throat locking up, Aleks dropped such thoughts like a stone bathed in Smaug’s fires. Such fears only freaked him out more. He had a mission. Until Smaug was dead, nothing else could matter. _They’ll be fine. Thorin has Bilbo to protect him. Bifur, Bombur and Bofur, too._ Another ragged inhale.

As he waited for the orcs to leave the vicinity, he tried to lean back gingerly against the wall to take some weight off his feet. He lost his balance, his back smashing up against stone. That fast, agony blackened his vision. His knees gave out, and he dropped to the floor.

OoOoOo

I grabbed at Ionor as unbelievable waves of agony rippled down my back. My sight wavered, and Ori exclaimed, his words lost to the throbbing of my pulse in my temples. _Aleks?_ The sense of danger to him settled like a noose around my neck.

“Lady?”

I pointed. With the pain zinging along our bond, I knew it for a fact. “He’s that way.”

OoOoOo

The battle continued to rage at the gates. Fíli remained near Geffin, combining the dwarves’ efforts with the men and keeping an eye upon the Elvenking’s tactics. More often than not, he followed the elf’s lead…and respected the elf more as the minutes ticked by.

Dwalin fell beneath a mob of goblins upon their left flank. Fíli shouted the charged, and they retrieved him – alive, thank Mahal, but injured badly enough that Balin carted the gruff warrior away towards one of the runners assigned to move the wounded to the Old Keep. 

Losses. Too many had fallen, and most had not survived long enough to need a fellow to remove them from the battlefield. His own companions had been fortunate thus far, and well did he know that. This battle felt like Lake-town all over again.

OoOoOo

Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, stared at the vista before him. A raven had arrived from Thorin Oakenshield not five minutes before, urging him to hurry. Looking at the mobs of orcs and goblins arrayed at the foot of the Lonely Mountain, Dain could see why. Elves in glittering gold manned the battlements, and Erebor’s siege weapons, what remained of them, rained down… Was that _gold?_ Aye, he thought, tugging upon his beard. Gold it was, by Durin’s beard.

He rubbed his hands together. “All right, lads, there’s plenty of them for all of us.”

The dwarves of the Iron Hills bellowed their agreement. 

“To the king!” At his cry, hundreds of dwarves broke down the crest of the small rise like a wave.

OoOoOo

Muriste l’Adelon watched without expression as a new force entered the fray, slamming against the invaders like a wave upon the shore. Inside, impatience burned hotter and hotter. The wolves had been gone for over an hour. How long could it take to locate two people?

She’d give that alpha another half hour. If he was not back by then, she would come after him. He would regret dallying when he’d been given an assignment. She would not tolerate such insubordination.


	53. Blood and Death...and a Loss

### Chapter 52

Marcus tapped his fingers in impatience. 

“Black Speech,” Troy whispered to him as they squatted upon the thin “road” they now followed, attention directed downward. 

The road was one of a series of paths chiseled into the walls of – what had Troy called this place? – Erebor. Unlike the obvious hallways and passages, these were only a foot to a foot and a half wide and cut through what looked to be ornamental depressions in the very walls. What their purpose might be, Marcus hadn’t a clue, but they were the faster option. Daphne’s scent carried them up stairs, down stairs, and through the most convoluted of routes. These narrow roads shaved distance from their journey even with the need to backtrack as they lost her scent. 

This place, he’d long since decided, was a nightmare for one racing against the clock. _Three hours._ His desperation was growing. 

“Why do I care?” he asked Troy as he surveyed the scene below him. 

“That’s Azog,” Troy told him, keeping his voice hushed. “He’s supposed to be hunting for Oakenshield. He’s not supposed to be here.”

“Why do I care?” he repeated. 

“Because that’s an elf down there treating with him,” Troy hissed. 

Marcus’s fingers whitened around the edge of the road, crushing the outer crust. “Why-?”

“This is _important,_ alpha. We can’t let the orcs win.”

Marcus’s eyes flicked heavenward. Spare him the altruism of youth. He prepared to signal his wolves onward when the elf spoke. 

“I know what it is you seek.” The elf approached the orcs with palms raised. “I can give her to you.”

_Wretched dialogue,_ Marcus sneered. He waited for the orcs to shoot the traitorous elf down, but they permitted him to approach. _Birds of a feather,_ he supposed.

“The freakish creature is surrounded by defenders,” the elf continued unprompted. “You’ll never get her out.” 

Marcus’s eyes slit at the evil sound of the orc’s guffaw. “We have a dragon, _elf.”_

The elf smile. “You need her alive. She trusts me.” The elf leaned forward. “I can get her for you. No fight. No danger of her being…spoiled. Your master would not react well should harm come to her before he can question her.”

The orc snarled. “What do you want, elf?”

Marcus shook his head in disgust. “Let’s go,” he breathed. The wolf in the lead position, Pete, dipped his snout and began padding along their minuscule road. The others fell in after him, Troy with great reluctance. 

“No harm to me or mine,” they heard the elf say. “You take that creature, you take her twin, and you go.” Mockingly, “I’ll even let you have the dwarves. But nothing else.”

_Twin._ Marcus froze, homing in upon that along with the rest of the Pack. This elf intended to hand Daphne over to the orcs? He growled, and the entire Pack took up his call, hunching over as they glared down at the creatures on the floor dozens of meters below them. 

The elf reacted immediately, pulling out a bow and launching an arrow. It pinged into the wall as Pete twisted from its path with the speed of their kind. 

“Wargs?” the elf demanded of the orc.

The orc’s eyes stared upward, too. “No,” Azog denied. “Not wargs.” He shouted at his fellows and the entire orc force began to fire upon the werewolves.

Marcus was struck in both shoulder and neck, and he roared in outrage. Pete bellowed as he took a hit in the belly. “Move,” Marcus ordered. “Out of here. Now.” The werewolves burst into a full run along the small road, following its incline higher until it ducked through a wall into another of Erebor’s massive rooms. Safely out of sight, he wrenched the arrows from his body, ignoring the pain. He’d heal soon enough.

“Marcus,” Troy panted as Pete tore an arrow from his back, “why didn’t we kill them?”

“We don’t have time, Troy. We’ve less than three hours until that portal does us no good. If that witch, Muriste, lacks to power to draw it to us, we have an hour's travel once we find our twins.”

“That elf knows where Daphne is,” Troy ventured. 

Marcus smiled coldly. “We can reach her first.” He grabbed the base of Troy’s neck in a rough embrace. “We’ll get through this,” he told his wolves. “Have I failed you yet? I swear, I’ll get us through this, whatever the cost, my brothers. We’ll be with our families again.”

They all nodded in unison, familiar wolves that had followed him faithfully for decades, most of them. 

“Let’s go.”

OoOoOo

Bofur hissed as he spied a dark, furry line of bodies upon another of the narrow paths. The wolves did not seem to notice his own party as they raced along the tiny road against the far wall of the Hall of Bronze. Bofur held himself still, hand tight upon the wee silver knife he’d filched from the Treasury as they’d pass it. A wolf, now, would hear a dwarf with ease – he was no elf to move about silently. He’d no idea if the same was true with these werewolves, but he’d not risk betraying their presence.

 _You’ll not take my lassie,_ he told them. His lassie. Their future was within his grasp. He’d not allow it to slip away. His imagination had already provided him a picture of how it might be. Twins, Aleks had told him. The lass would be giving him twins. Aye, that sounded perfect to him. A house full of wee ones, all with their mother’s green eyes. With or without the Brown Wizard, he’d make it happen.

When the beasts had passed out of the Hall of Bronze, Bofur lifted a brow at the elf behind him. 

“They have discovered these paths,” Legolas murmured with concern. Blue eyes beamed down upon him. “Can we reach the Old Keep before the werewolves?”

At that, Bofur smiled. “Aye,” he said without hesitation. “Though best we be hurrying. That path will take them longer if they remain upon it, but it does reach the Old Bridge.” At Legolas’s confused look, he added as he ran along the stone ledge, “One must take the Old Bridge to reach the sole road to the Keep. These narrow paths do not extend so deep into the mountain.”

“Just what is the purpose of these paths?” Belegon’s voice asked from behind the prince. 

“Runners,” Bofur answered shortly, with a wry smile over one shoulder. “Ironically enough, they are for emergencies. Though I’m thinking the architects ne’er expected a situation quite like this one.”

OoOoOo

Nori jumped, his heart near to thundering out his chest as his silent, stealthy progress was instantly shattered with boisterous greetings. He halted mid-step, stunned. _Aye, maybe not so stealthy after all._ Perhaps he’d been around his younger brother a bit too much.

“Are we ever glad to see you,” a young man told him. Behind the dark-haired man, a group of men, women and children huddled. The boy cleared his throat and bowed at the waist. “Bain, son of Bard, at your service.”

“Nori, at yours,” the thief responded, fingers tapping upon his thigh. Well now, Bard would be relieved, he thought. Aye, very relieved. He bobbed his head. “Right, then. Your father’s been worried,” he told Bain. He considered his options. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of leading them to the Old Keep with Azog (maybe) and Smaug (definitely) prowling about. 

_Best take them to the First Hall,_ he decided. It was the safer route. “To the First Hall,” he told them.

“What about Smaug?” Bain asked as many of the people burst into fearful questions. 

“He’s being kept distracted,” Nori told them with a glance down at where the chipmunk bulged beneath his tunic. He patted the animal, but other than blinking up at him when he checked upon it, there was no response. Nori feared he may have just uttered a falsehood to these folks. 

_Mahal, Aleks. Where are you?_

OoOoOo

Caranoran stood back as Beorn single-handedly lifted the heavy stone slab serving as a door from its moorings and tossed it off the mountain. The rock crumbled and shattered as it tumbled down the Lonely Mountain’s uneven side.

“It looks scorched,” one of the men, Gunter, said. 

“Smaug,” Bard responded. “Do you know where this door leads?”

Caranoran turned to find the man addressing him. “No,” he answered, worry turning his voice sharp. His adar was fighting that horde below. He was certain of it. Legolas, too. He wanted to assure himself of their safety – no, needed to, rather. Realizing he’d snapped at the man, he modulated his voice to something kinder. “My apologies, Master Bard. No, I am unfamiliar with these Halls.”

Bard shook his head. “No need to apologize, Master Elf.”

“Beorn, here,” Caranoran said, “is a skin-changer. He’ll be leading us.”

“Skin-changer?” Bard repeated with brows high. 

Beorn grunted as he shoved debris that cluttered the doorway out of his path. He spared the men a glance. “The last,” Beorn said. “I’ll don the form of a large bear should we encounter orcs.” The skin-changer next addressed him. “If I smell Little Brother or Little Sister, I will inform you.”

_One less worry,_ Caranoran thought.

Picking up the windlance, the giant of a man led them into the mountain. 

Caranoran braced himself. Dragon-hunting. This development was unexpected and not altogether welcome. As he ducked down to enter Erebor, he prayed. With Beorn to sniff out their path, they would find Smaug. It was a foregone conclusion. A thrill of nervous, fearful anticipation flared to life. Caranoran hoped his resolve would not fail him. A dragon – his father had such stories of encounters with the beasts that Caranoran’s mouth went dry as they burbled up in his memory. It was one thing to entertain stories of the beasts as a youth. It was quite another to place one foot before the other to confront one. 

Too, he feared what might happen if while hunting the dragon, Azog managed to slip by with Hwinneth. The dragon must be dealt with…but his sister had to be protected, too. 

_No choice._ This party had the only weapon capable of dealing with Smaug. Erebor was a massive kingdom. The likelihood of Azog locating Hwinneth and then managing to locate Erebor’s back door was slim to none. His gaze slid to Beorn’s big frame. _He’ll know._ If Hwinneth’s path neared theirs, the skin-changer couldn’t fail to notice it, not with a nose keen enough to follow a week-old trail left by dwarves. 

Smaug could not be left alive. That he’d not yet turned upon Erebor’s defenders from within was a boon that could not last forever. Before such a thing could happen, Caranoran determined to see the dragon dead. 

_For you, Ada._ His father had been his teacher, his protector and guide through the many years of his life. Well did he know his father’s terror of dragons, and well did he understand it. He took a deep breath. For his father, he would do this, and he would succeed.

OoOoOo

Bilbo deposited a piece of debris at the mouth of yet another arched entryway. He was nearing Smaug, and the dragon’s rage was terrible to hear. Bellows rumbled the ground beneath his bare feet, and the reverberations of Smaug’s footsteps shook the ground.

“Thief! Disfigurer!”

Bilbo dropped as the wall opposite him shattered, punctured by a monstrously large barbed tail. He held his breath as the dragon stomped by, waiting to see if his titles were added to the dragon’s litany. If “Barrel Rider” came from the dragon’s lips, he was in trouble. 

Seconds stretched into minutes, and Smaug’s steps never faltered or altered direction. Bilbo allowed himself to breathe easy once more. Rising to his feet, he straightened his coat with a sheepish little cough. Very well, then. He’d found the dragon, and the dragon was seeking Aleks. Slipping between cracks into the corridor Smaug had just passed, Bilbo padded after the dragon, hoping he’d lead him to Aleks. 

How he’d extricate the satyr if Smaug spied him first, he had not quite worked out.

OoOoOo

Brethil smiled at the fortuitous turn of events. Eru had blessed his efforts, it seemed. Eyeing his target, he murmured, “I’ll draw them to us,” to the orcs at his back. “She’ll come to me.”

He never saw the dagger before it sliced across his throat. His body was dropped to the floor like so much rubbish. Azog sneered. “Your services are no longer needed, _elf.”_

Azog surveyed the scene arrayed below him and signaled his orcs. There was no escape for the female this time. Soon, he’d have her out of the mountain. Then, Oakenshield was his.

OoOoOo

Ever since that blazing pain had blasted through to me, an inner tugging had pulled at my mind. It was nebulous at times, but it persisted, demanding I follow. With that intangible guide to lead us, Oin picked our path. The old healer led us by both thin roads he called the “narrow paths” and the more sane byways below. As we progressed from one passageway to another, I rubbed Alice. But for the times we ventured onto the narrow paths, Ionor walked protectively at my side.

Oin rounded a corner into a grandiose square. He named the place for us with a sorrowful shake of the head – plainly it had once meant something to him – but the name swiftly escaped me. Hazduk? Hakduz? Whichever, it was a self-contained village, or the remains of one, rather. One of eight-seven situated throughout the mountain, Oin was both proud and sad to proclaim. 

_Eighty seven villages wiped out by Smaug,_ I thought, staring at the charred remains of block houses lining the walls and dividing the inner space of the huge area into tidy rows. 

_Aleks?_ Then, “Aleks?” I murmured at Alice. Neither drew any response. I exchanged worried glances with Ori. The scholar had his sword out and ready. If I had to guess, I’d say he was as freaked out at the idea of running into Smaug as I was. Ionor and Oin seemed unfazed. I tried to mimic them, but the whole “fake it until you make it” spiel? Yeah, that was pure, unadulterated bunk. 

A scuffle sounded from the side. Ionor reacted first, planting himself between me and the source. At first, I failed to realize what was happening as Ionor stiffened. The chestnut-haired guard staggered backwards into me, falling with a look of pure shock upon his face. I tried to support him as his legs gave way. Blood welled from a wound upon his neck…a wound inflicted by the blood-saturated dagger protruding from his throat. 

“Mahal,” Ori whispered, dragging me from Ionor as he spotted first the source of our peril. 

Orcs stepped into the street from all sides, cutting off every avenue of escape. We backed away from the trap closing in around us. I couldn’t tear my gaze from Ionor as he choked on his own blood, struggling to lift his sword. An arrow sliced through the air, slamming into his head. Just so fast, Ionor was gone. 

A chuckle drew my attention in the other direction, and I clutched at Ori's sleeve. 

“Azog,” Ori whispered.

OoOoOo

“What do you mean, they are not here?” Bofur asked, fear bursting into fiery life in an instant. He shoved his way down the hall and into the infirmary. She had to be here. _Lass, lass, what have you done?_ Once inside, he scanned the room. He didn’t see her. He didn’t see Oin or Ori, either.

“Master Bofur?”

Spinning around, he found himself staring into Freija and Hydi’s drawn faces. Josan slept upon his mother’s shoulder, the wee one clearly exhausted. For them, Bofur reined himself in. “Freija,” he entreated, “where is my lass?”

Freija’s brown eyes filled with tears, and his heart burst with new dread. “Aleks,” the woman managed to say, her voice as unsteady as a drunken Gloin. “Daphne said Smaug got Aleks. She was adamant that he was badly injured.”

_Aye,_ he thought through a rushing in his ears. A dragon would do that. _Lassie, you cannot leave me._

A slender hand descended to his shoulder. Belegon, he identified, as Legolas listened just beyond him. The prince’s blue gaze captured his, steadying him. _Bofur, ye great fool, do not be losing heart now._ Bofur inhaled, his shoulders firming.

“Who went with her?” Legolas asked. “She would not have gone alone.”

“No,” Hydi assured them, blushing under the elves’ intense regard. 

Freija patted Hydi’s arm. “Oin declared himself the only one suited to tending A-Aleks,” the lass told them. “He’s had experience treating those dragon-burned.” The young woman rubbed her palms together near her waist. “Ori and the elf guard went with her. They left a quarter hour ago.”

A quarter hour. 

“Bofur?”

He stopped before the door and craned back around. 

Tears escaped from Freija’s eyes. “Find them. Please. For me.”

“I’ll be finding them, lass,” he told her in a rough voice of his own. “Count on it.”

OoOoOo

A low moan escaped from the back of my throat as Oin rotated his staff before bracing it between both hands.

Azog’s lips pulled back in a sneer. “Leave the female unspoiled.”

The bottom dropped out from my stomach. An arrow sped from a bow. I saw it. I reacted, throwing myself at Ori, arms and legs wrapping around him. The scholar didn’t even rock as my full weight hit him. 

The arrow meant for him slammed into my back hard enough that I gasped, choking as I tried to inhale. It felt like I’d bit hit by an anvil. Hissing sounds warned me of more arrows, and I hugged Ori, trying to shield as much of him as I could. A second, punching pain exploded in my hip. I’d barely registered that new pain when a third lanced into my side at rib-level. Shock coursed through me. Horrible, flashing red signs of pain exploded through my central nervous system. 

I gaped, mouth open in a silent cry. Ori did cry out, but the sound was one of surprise, not pain. Oin grunted once, twice, the audible noise of arrow impacting flesh making me flinch. 

Azog roared something, and the barrage halted. “You filthy maggots! Who told you to fire?”

I’d been shot. 

I’d been _shot._ My brain couldn’t compute it, stuttering on the fact like a skipping record. 

“Oin!” Ori cried. The scholar crossed the small distance separating us and dropping to his knees beside the fallen healer. The jarring action loosed me from his back. My legs slipped from his hips, and my knees smacked into hard stone. Some instinct kept shouting to protect Ori, and I clutched at his coat as he bent over Oin. 

I sobbed as new pain tore into me like a ravenous beast. Each shaft penetrating into my body burned like it had been dipped in molten metal – and a part of me belated blubbered, _Metal! Get it out, it’s metal!_

“Daphne, can you help him?” Ori asked frantically. Only then, I supposed, did he realize I was still plastered to his back. His head whipped around. “Daphne?” His eyes widened, and his lips parted. 

“Female,” Azog rumbled. Wrapped around Ori as I was, my body throbbing with pain, it took me a few seconds to lift my head and bring the orc into view. He beckoned me with one finger. 

Even if I could have moved, I knew how this game ended. He’d already murdered Ionor. The instant I was out of the line of fire, Ori and Oin were dead. I swallowed thickly, my gaze racing to Oin. The old healer lay sprawled on the ground before Ori’s knees, his iron staff at his side. No less than four arrows had found their home in him. Blood stained his travel clothes and pooled beneath his body. _Not Oin. Please, not Oin._

“Don’t…move,” I managed to whisper to Ori. “Azog…needs me alive.” It was all I could think to do. Stall. What for, I didn’t know. We were nowhere near the Old Keep or the First Hall. It wasn’t like anyone was coming for us. No one knew we’d gone from the Keep but for the healers and Jarel’s family.

An animal chittered and complained where it was squished between us – the chipmunk, I thought a bit hysterically. My heart pounded so loud, it drowned out the rest of what Azog said. I groaned, forehead dropping to Ori’s back. The metal arrowheads felt like they were searing holes through me. _Likely they are,_ a detached part of me noted. With metal, my wounds would grow and grow. 

_Aleks?_ It was stupid, for even if my brother heard me, what could he do? My hands turned clammy where they clutched at Ori’s jacket. “It hurts, Ori.” The words slipped from me, inane and useless. I could feel blood flowing down my back and side. How bad, I couldn’t guess and rather preferred not knowing. My eyes welled with tears. I wanted Bofur there with such a sudden, intense fervor that it stole my breath. 

Ori stiffened. “Daphne,” he hissed. Oin, I noted, didn’t move. Was he even alive? I tore my gaze from the healer. Azog stalked forward with ground-eating strides. I couldn’t run – I was draped over Ori – and if he moved, they’d get him. I think both of us realized it. 

“Ori,” I said. Where I was going with that, I didn’t know. I just spoke his name.

An ominous chorus of growls echoed through the huge space like surround sound, completely unexpected and blood-chilling. Azog froze. I panted in pain, my head drooping until it returned to rest against Ori. His right hand tightened upon his sword, but the left found and clasped my arm.

Dark balls of fur streaked across the rooftops around us like feral lightning. In a second, half the orcs were down, screaming as they were mauled. Black blood spurted all around us, splashing across the pavement and half-standing walls. A low whimper rose from the back of my throat. 

Azog backed up with shock upon his face. He cut and ran, abandoning his orcs without hesitation. A handful raced after him, but only two managed to leave the square alive. 

One of the furry creatures… _Wait a sec._

My head lifted with difficulty as a familiar wolf padded towards me. Brown with a black splotch above the nose, bigger than any wolf had a right to be, I knew that wolf. Ori brandished his sword at the wolf, but I panted, “No, don’t.” I supposed I should try to extricate myself from Ori, but I wasn’t sure I could coax either legs or arms to move. The burning sensation persisted, penetrating far into my body. I trembled, huddling closer to Ori. When had the temperature dropped so low? “Marcus?” My voice sounded little-girlish in my ears. 

_Bofur._ I hadn’t had a chance to really hold him. There had been no snuggling or even many kisses. At that moment, the fact rose up before me that I might never experience those moments with my love, and it broke my heart. Would he be okay? If I didn’t make it, what would it do to my toymaker? _Bofur, I’m sorry._

The wolf whined worriedly as it circled us. Once it had completed one circuit, it began to blur. Ori sucked in a big breath. 

“He’s…changing shape, Ori,” I said, letting my eyelids half-mast. “Marcus, please. Check Oin. Is he alright?”

In a matter of seconds, a naked man stood where the wolf had been. Brown eyes raced over me as he stalked behind me. A hand drifted from my nape down my back. “What were you thinking, maple-girl?” my former foster father growled. 

Maple-girl. For once, it lacked that hint of disdain so often associated with the label. “I was thinking…” A gasp as his hand brushed near one of the arrows. “…thinking that the orcs would kill the dwarves.”

“We’re stronger than you think,” Ori chided. Twisting at the waist, he helped Marcus ease me onto the gritty stone floor, flat upon my belly. That was it for Alice – the chipmunk shot out of the sling like a bullet, zooming into the nearest crumbling structure with wild eyes. Ori shoved his coat under my head. 

“Marcus,” I managed. “They burn.”

If anything, my erstwhile guardian’s features hardened more. Troy appeared in my line of sight, the man’s rump facing me as he leaned over Oin. 

“Troy?” I begged.

“Troy, we don’t have--” Marcus began.

Troy shook his head and interrupted. “This is Oin, Marcus. He’s the dwarves’ healer.” He ripped Oin’s outer wear from the dwarf’s body, baring the injuries to us all. 

“Search his supplies for bandages,” Marcus commanded as he did likewise to the dress the Elvenking had provided for me just – I thought back – two days before. He used his claws to rip around the arrows’ shafts and fletching, a low growl sounding continuously from his throat. 

Troy dug through Oin’s satchel and tossed Marcus bandaging. My guardian leaned in until our eyes met. “What do we put on the wounds?” he asked. 

“You’ll need to flush them out,” Ori inserted. He reached over and filched the strap on Oin’s bag. A few tugs dragged it to his side. “Orcs poison their weapons.”

_Poison._ My teeth began to chatter. Bofur was really not going to like this. “Marcus,” I pleaded, eyes leaking tears at the continual burn spearing through me. “They _burn.”_

Marcus’s eyes blazed as he bit out, “Poison?” The werewolf wasted no time. One by one, he gripped the wooden shafts sticking out of me and yanked them free. Some of the rest of the Pack must have shifted, for Pete’s weathered hands appeared upon my shoulders, holding me down as I screamed and writhed with each removal. Oin groaned nearby, and I assumed he, too, was being roughly plucked of arrows. 

Ori’s hand ended up in mine – when, how, I didn’t remember. I squeezed the life out of it, shivering. 

Pete swore, using language my _amma_ would have smack him for. “She’s losing too much blood,” the older man said.

“Metal,” Marcus said with rising fury. “What did I tell you, maple-girl? You keep your head down. Don’t attract attention. Leaping before an arrow is _not smart.”_ His roar blasted hair off my face. 

No, I supposed not. “Oin? Please Marcus, is he…?”

The werewolf grumbled as only a wolf could, the sounds coming from his throat grudging and wordless. “Troy?”

“It’s bad, but I think he’ll live,” the other wolf said. 

“You are the one I’m worried about,” Marcus said as he tossed soaked fabric to the side. It slapped against a wall fifty feet away with a _splat,_ leaving a red stain as it fell to the ground. The wolf leaned in and inhaled over my back. 

Ori’s hand tightened around mine. “What are you doing?” he asked, appalled. 

“Checking for poison,” the alpha spat. “Pete?”

Pete took his turn, his nose close to my back. “Smells clean enough, but she’s losing too much blood.”

_“I know, Pete.”_ Marcus dug through Oin’s bag, shoving Ori from his way. He rifled through glass jars, making all kinds of clinking noises in his panic. At last he bellowed, “I can’t read any of this! What do I use?” Appearing before my face, my grim-faced guardian gentled his voice. “Daphne? You have to help me here. What do I use?”

He freed my hand from Ori’s and guided it into the satchel. I was weak, but an inner voice said, _We’re in real trouble here. Figure it out. For Bofur. For Aleks._ I groaned. Aleks. Was he laying somewhere, dying of his wounds? My hand fumbled around vials, and I sifted until I thought I detected something I could use. 

“Need to smell this,” I told Marcus.

He withdrew the jar, uncapped it, and held it near my nose. Shepherd’s purse. I could have cried. Not so powerful as cayenne or comfrey, but on a normal wound, it would stop the bleeding. If it would help my condition, I wasn’t certain.

“Use it,” I told him. “For Oin, too.” I panted, my head swimming. “Cayenne is better if there is any. Marcus?”

He gave a wolfish version of a _hmm,_ anger undergirding the sound. 

“Aleks is burned.” The werewolf stiffened beside me. “Smaug,” I added.

_“Smaug_ got him?” Troy’s voice. 

I lifted a trembling hand, my finger shaking. “He’s that way.”

OoOoOo

Marcus’s hand fisted around white bandaging as his ward continued to bleed from hip and back. Her ribs had prevented the third arrow from doing as much damage, but none of them should have happened. He wanted to roar in absolute fury. No, he did not love these naiad kids, but his Pack and his Nancy were riding on them. Looking at the dryad hemorrhage before him, he could feel his future, and his wife’s, trickling away through his fingers.

He’d never wished harm on the naiads. Never. Pity joined his rage. The little dryad didn’t deserve this. None of them did. Marcus tossed another saturated wad of cloth across the space. It smacked something in the background. 

At least she’d lost consciousness. There’d be no arguments from her end. She _would_ survive. All he had to do was collect Aleks and get them both back to the echnari. The Old One, he was certain, would take it from there. 

“Pete?”

The older man’s head popped up at his summons. “Start searching for Aleks. Take Jeremy, Donovan, and Sarge with you. We’ll follow shortly.”

“She can’t be moved,” the dwarf protested. 

Marcus growled fully at him, teeth bared. “Do not interfere with me, dwarf.”

He had to give the short man credit – he did not back down. No, he actually reached for his sword. Marcus shook his head and returned to his task, padding each of the gaping holes in Daphne’s body with more bandaging liberally sprinkled with the powdered herb she’d selected. 

As soon as she was ready for transport, he punched the dwarf hard enough to knock him out, lifted Daphne into his arms, and sped after the rest of his pack, leaving the two dwarves behind.

_Two hours and twenty-two minutes._

OoOoOo

Bodies flew into the air as if hurled by some invisible force. Thorin stood beside Gandalf on the platform above the gates, Kíli at his opposite shoulder. Brows climbing, Thorin lowered his bow. “What madness is this?” he demanded.

“The other power of which I spoke,” Gandalf replied with drawn face. 

“Uncle,” Kíli said in disbelief as a second wave of orcs were flung into the air like a child’s toys. 

“By Durin,” Thorin muttered. His attention rushed to the dwarves below fighting the orcs. Thorin lifted a hand to signal Dain. _Look up,_ he willed. As that inexplicable force tunneled ever closer to the dwarf lines, he drew Orcrist and waved it over his head. 

At last, Dain noticed. The other dwarf’s weapon thrust into the air. 

Thorin pointed a the disturbance mowing through orcs and goblins with his sword, and Dain’s helmet followed where he indicated. He was too far to behold Dain’s expression, but a ripple made its way through the dwarves. The Iron Hills forces peeled away from the area, putting space between themselves and this new threat. 

“Gandalf,” Thorin said. “Have you counsel?”

The Grey Wizard’s lips compressed, and his chin lowered. The wizard’s attention never left the field below. “Yes,” he said lowly. “Clear this balcony. Get word to the Elvenking. I will counter this creature, but I do not know what it is capable of doing.”

“Can we aid you?” 

At that, Gandalf looked over as if surprised, a small smile lighting his face. “This, my friend, is mine to do. I thank you for your offer, but it is best the rest of you stay clear.”

Thorin nodded and left Gandalf to himself. “Captain Tauriel,” Thorin called.

The elfess bobbed her head. “I heard.” She erupted in a spate of Sindarin and the elves retreated into the hall. 

“Kíli, with me,” Thorin commanded. “Bombur, those manning the siege weapons - tell them to halt until further notice.” Who knew what the creature’s response might be if they launched a volley of sharp objects upon it?

“Aye,” the heavy dwarf said with a leery look below them. With a shake of the head, Bombur scampered away. 

With one last glance at their wizard, Thorin raced from the terrace and to the nearest stairwell. That Old One could plow through orcs and goblins as it chose, and Thorin would celebrate. But he’d not allow it to do the same to his people. Or, he realized with some surprise, his allies. 

_Elves. As allies._ Yet, this day, they were just that. This day, they had his sword to protect them, too. 

Bursting from the hallway onto the landing three stories above the First Hall, he roared, “Elvenking!” From this distance, he could only discern that the elf looked in his direction. Trusting Thranduil would hear him, he shouted down, “The Old One approaches. Be ready to retreat before it.”

“What of Gandalf?” Fíli hollered back up at him. Thorin could not find his heir in the mass of bodies below. 

“He will confront the creature,” Thorin replied with equal volume. _Mahal, help us._ Aleks had not spoken of the Old Ones as Mistress Hunt must have. How powerful were these things?

OoOoOo

Radagast clutched his staff, chanting under his breath. He could not act overtly, but he could aid Gandalf in secrecy. And that, he determined to do.

Toby chirruped at his shoulder, and he spared his ferret-friend a distracted nod. “Yes, yes, I know. I will not wear myself out.”

Another squeak from Toby.

“We’ll not see the hobbit,” he reminded his friend. “If all goes as the Lady has foreseen, he will be quite invisible. I _know,_ Toby. Yes, it makes this entire matter much more disconcerting. We must trust he will arrive on time.”

An exasperated huff, and Radagast returned to his efforts. 

At the completion of the first set of phrases, the bats filling the air trembled as his first spell hit. He extended one hand towards them, sending command after command in their direction. To the naked eye, naught happened. There was no blinding flash of light or boom of thunder. Such would be too obvious. Even Gandalf could not know Radagast hovered on the edge of the battlefield. But the spells had their effect. Bats wheeled overhead, abandoning their assault upon the men and elves exposed to the open air. 

_Yes,_ he willed, chanting again. 

Through the bats’ senses, he knew a female creature walked towards Erebor as if strolling through the gardens of Valinor. She made no motions that Radagast or the bats could detect, but orcs and goblins were projected from her path as if launched from a catapult.

Sauron, Radagast thought with a fey glee, could not be happy at present. Doubtless, he too watched as this scene unfolded. Watched and seethed. 

The orcs turned and fled before her, those in her path running over their fellows in their haste to vacate the area. Radagast smiled. They fled right into Dain Ironfoot’s dwarves and were cut down by the dozens. 

That part of the battle, at least, was done. 

The more taxing part had just begun.

OoOoOo

Thranduil called for the retreat, his words echoed by the man leading Lake-town’s forces and the dwarf, Fíli. The Elvenking stood at the very edge of Erebor’s entryway, Oakenshield, Fíli, Sainor, Tauriel, and the human’s leader beside him. They watched as goblins and orcs fled from Erebor, stampeding away like frightened cattle.

In their wake, the Old One was revealed. 

She appeared a tall female, slender as an elf. Ebony tresses flowed down her back, and she wore a gown of no fabric Thranduil had ever before beheld. Her eyes glowed a luminescent blue-green, and Hwinneth’s words returned to him. She’d seen such eyes before arriving in Dol Guldur. Was this creature, then, the one who had sent his daughter to him? For what purpose? 

“How powerful are these beings?” Oakenshield murmured from the side of his mouth.

That, Thranduil thought, was the question. “Powerful enough to tear rifts between the worlds,” he said. An alarming thought, for it implied they might be more powerful than their own wizards. Perhaps. The wizards had not yet been fully tested. They often worked through intermediaries, coaxing events along rather than filling the skies with dazzling displays. This encounter was going to be illuminating. 

_Gandalf cannot fail._ He turned his mind to ways in which he might aid the wizard. 

The Old One halted a dozen paces before them. The eerily beautiful female assessed them with one sweeping glance before lifting her eyes. “Return what is mine,” she told Gandalf coolly. 

“You may not have them,” Thorin burst in harshly, drawing her unnatural gaze back to them. 

“May I not?” she asked. She took a step forward, and a crack of thunder rent the air. 

“You may not pass,” Gandalf intoned, his voice echoing across the plains. 

She lifted one hand, lightning crackling between her fingers. “Insignificant whelp. You try my patience. That, you will learn, is not wise.” A brilliant ball of snapping energy shot up at Gandalf, only to fly into the ground beside her at the wizard’s counter.

“This is not your world,” Gandalf said. “You will not trample on the people here.”

_“You_ think to stop me?” She laughed, the sound that of breaking glass. “You have not the power, old man.” She threw another orb of light, this time aiming for those watching from the First Hall. 

Thranduil and the others threw themselves from its path. The orb smashed through four of Erebor’s colossal pillars before dying out, pulverizing them in quick succession. People screamed and ran from the debris. Then, lightning arced down from the sky and slammed into the woman, blasting her to the ground.

Thranduil leaped to his feet and signaled his archers. “Shoot the female,” he cried in Sindarin. Hundreds of arrows flew from their bow, all slamming into the female as he’d known they would. With more fletching visible than female, the creature somehow stood. 

The bats that had been circling overhead like a thunderhead funneled down, a furry tornado that slashed into the female. The cloud of them filled the sky so densely that she vanished from sight. 

_Boom!_ The animals collapsed to the ground, charred and burning. The female stood, blood-drenched and skin torn. Arrows stuck out from her like an elleth’s pincushion. She screamed, a high-pitched, shrill sound that hurt the ears, and the arrows darted from her, flying with as much force as when loosed from a bow. Thranduil’s eyes flared at the sight of hundreds of arrows returning to them. He grunted as one struck with enough force to lodge in his armor above his breastbone, and a second slammed into his thigh. 

None escaped injury, he noted with a wince of pain and blazing eyes. Everyone who had stood in Erebor’s gates had been struck by her counterstrike. 

As her scream ended, the wounds upon her body sealed themselves. The very blood she’d shed sank through skin to return to its proper abode, leaving the female without stain or blemish. _By Eru,_ he thought, his eyes blazing. _Even her dress mends itself._

The female shouted something in a tongue both lyrical and foul. The ledge above shattered, and with a cry, Gandalf fell.

OoOoOo

“There you are.”

Aleks had never heard more terrifying words in his life. Something was wrong with Daph, the knowledge was complete and persistent. He’d been trying to home in upon her, his body shaking with exertion and pain…until this. Aleks turned around slowly. By his side, the fox whined once. 

_“Run,”_ he said in fox speech. The animal hesitated, but Aleks roared, _“Run!”_

The little ginger fox bolted. 

Aleks stared up at the crimson dragon and trembled. _Let it be quick._ There was nowhere to go. He stood in the center of a big, empty room. There were no obstacles, no walls or columns. 

Smaug inhaled, and some desperate part of Aleks whipped him into a full-tilt run. It was useless. He’d never make it. But he ran.

OoOoOo

“There you are,” Bilbo heard the dragon croon. _Aleks._ Instant panic. Smaug had found Aleks. He pulled Sting and raced towards the dragon, but even as he barreled around the corner, he saw Smaug’s flame chase after his friend…and engulf him.

His eyesight turned blurry, but Bilbo raced on. When Smaug’s fire died down, Bilbo removed the ring and waved his sword at the dragon. “Stay back, you.” 

Smaug’s eyes widened, and then he laughed, the booming sound echoing around the gigantic room. “Why look who has come to join us,” the dragon said. “Riddle-Maker.”

Bilbo stood his ground, Sting wavering in his grip. He risked one glance behind him, retreating one foot after the other. Aleks…he was breathing. He was…alive? Bilbo’s head whipped back around as Smaug’s long, sinuous neck stretched out until the dragon’s man-sized teeth were a bare foot from him. Hot, sulfuric breath puffed over his body. 

“And where is the dwarf this time, thief?” the dragon rumbled. “Hiding once again?”

“N-no,” Bilbo protested, mind working feverishly. 

“Doubtless setting another trap,” Smaug said with disdain. “Yet the only one capable of hurting me is…sadly…indisposed.” The dragon chortled, his head swinging towards Aleks.

“No!” Bilbo hurried to plant himself between them again. “You… You can’t have him.”

“Can I not, thief?” Smaug stood upright, towering above him. “Just who do you think can stop me?”

OoOoOo

Marcus stared at the scene before him. Aleks looked so badly burned, he’d have thought him dead if not for the faint rise and fall of the satyr’s chest. He couldn’t believe this. First Daphne, now Aleks. Was the universe conspiring against him?

“Alpha?” Troy asked in a whisper.

_…real-live, fire-breathing dragon…_

“You said he is supposed to be dead,” Marcus said. 

Troy nodded frantically. “Bard was supposed to shoot him with a Black Arrow. Smaug is missing one scale on his chest.”

Nice. That did them no good now. “Attack,” he told his Pack. “Harry the beast. Stay out of his flames.” For the first time ever, his wolves hesitated, staring at him with wide eyes. Marcus’s temper escaped his tenuous hold. _“Go!”_ he bellowed. 

Pete nodded and howled as the dragon’s attention fled the – what had Troy called him? – hobbit and rushed to where Marcus stood with Daphne in his arms. Before the dragon acted, the werewolves attacked. Marcus winced as the first two collided with the dragon’s scale plating and slid to the floor. Pete growled wolfish commands, and the werewolves fled an instant before a ball of fire slammed into the ground, leaving a nice crater there. 

Marcus bellowed in wordless, desperate frustration and leaped to the floor below. He rushed to Aleks’s side, ignoring the hobbit as he pestered him with questions. He set Daphne down. His place was with his wolves. Spearing the small creature and his equally small sword with a sharp look, he demanded, “Get water. Soak any fabric you can find and put it on Aleks.” When the hobbit failed to jump to, he roared, _“Now!”_

It was wrong. Everything had gone _wrong._ Whipping around, Marcus changed between one step and the next. With a guttural snarl, he threw himself into the fray.

OoOoOo

Beorn halted, nose in the air.

Bard’s grip upon one of the Black Arrows tightened. Smaug was roaring, and… “Those cannot be wolves,” Bard said. 

Caranoran’s head tilted to one side. “Those are wolves,” the prince proclaimed.

“Here?” Davin asked, incredulous. 

Beorn nodded. “I smell Little Brother and Little Sister.” A somber glance at the elf.

To Bard, the words meant nothing, but it was clear they meant a good deal to the elf. “What?” Caranoran gasped. The elf’s head whipped back towards the wall separating them from the dragon and what the elf had labeled ‘wolves’. “Beorn, we must hurry.”

The skin-changer placed hands upon the wall, pressing. He repeated the action a couple times, spacing his efforts out a yard apart. 

“But it makes no sense,” Davin protested. “Wolves in a mountain?”

No, it did not. A tremendous crash vibrated underfoot, and Caranoran spoke. _“Beorn.”_ Urgency and fear.

“You think to harm _me?”_ they all heard the dragon bellow. The roar of dragon fire sounded. 

Bard stretched out one hand to touch the wall. “It’s hot,” he hissed, withdrawing his palm. 

Caranoran turned to him, the elf’s strange eyes alight with some inner fire. “Hurry. Ready the windlance,” he said. 

Beorn plunked the weapon onto the ground with a metallic rattle. 

“I cannot shoot through a wall,” Bard informed the two.

“There will not be a wall,” Beorn growled. Black hair began to pour out of the skin-changer’s skin along his back, and his skeleton seemed to grow bigger and thicker. As his mouth and nose distorted, he rumbled in a guttural voice, “Find our naiads.”

Caranoran nodded shortly. “My word on it. Take all care, Master Beorn.”

Bard stood, Black Arrow in hand and jaw dangling, as the skin-changer completed his change, leaving Bard and his men standing in arm’s length of the biggest bear he’d ever seen. The elf stepped away from the wall, and the bear pounded at it, roaring. The big, furry body shoved harder and harder, his coat of fur shaking with each driving thrust of his platter-sized paws. The wall splintered, then cracked with a crunching sound. With the bear’s next mighty shove, the a chunk of wall separated and fell into the room. 

Instant, stifling heat poured out of the hole, slapping Bard and his men in the face. The bear tore more pieces away, making a path before disappearing inside. Through the new aperture, Bard had a good look at the dragon raging within.

Bard burst into action, loading the Black Arrow as his men gawped at the sight before them. The room beyond the wall was destroyed. The dragon chased one wolf-like creature after another as they hounded him as only a wolf pack could. 

“Blimey,” Gunter whispered. 

“Wolves,” Manfred muttered. “Someone pinch me, for this makes not a lick of sense.”

Caranoran hissed as he slipped into the room. 

“Best of luck, Master Elf,” Bard said. 

Caranoran dipped his head. “And to you, Lord of Dale.”

OoOoOo

Bilbo shook the last of his water onto his coat with trembling hands. He gathered it up and laid it as gently as he could upon Aleks’s chest, fretting with every breath. He glanced back where the creatures – the _werewolves,_ he corrected himself – attacked the dragon. Aleks had once told the Company how rapidly werewolves could heal, and he was witnessing the truth of Aleks’s words before his very eyes.

“They won’t last long,” Aleks grunted, head turning back towards Bilbo. 

Bilbo swallowed. Aleks looked more like a burnt roast than a living, breathing satyr. The hair upon his head was gone, including the beard, and the exposed scalp was blistered and seeped awful-looking fluids. And that, Bilbo thought with panic, was the least of his injuries. Aleks’s legs looked blackened, the skin peeling away in dark curls, and his arms and chest were little better. 

“We’d best get you out of here, Master Aleks,” Bilbo said, attempting for a business-like tone. 

“Dude,” Aleks said, his head turning until his sister came into view. She’d not awakened when the werewolf had deposited her next to her brother, and the blood pooling around her alarmed Bilbo as much as Aleks’s injuries. Bandages had been wrapped around her back – thick ones, too – but they were saturated, unable to halt the flow of blood leaving her body. 

Bilbo patted his pocket, assuring himself the Ring remained within. He didn’t know these werewolves, and if – _when_ – Smaug bested them, Aleks had already made him swear to don the Ring and vanish. He was too important, Aleks had maintained.

Bilbo didn’t feel important. He felt frantic that he was going to lose two people he cared about very much. 

“Bilbo,” Aleks tried again, “I don’t think we’re going to make it.” 

“Don’t you be saying that, Aleks,” Bilbo scolded, his fear rising. “We’ll get you to Gandalf. You’ll be just fine. You’ll see.”

Bilbo startled when a familiar elf appeared at his side. “Prince Caranoran,” he blurted, but the prince had eyes only for the twins. _No,_ Bilbo corrected himself, _for his sister._ How many times had he watched the two with their incessant pranks, wondering to himself at the elf’s un-elf-like behavior? 

“Dearest Eru, no,” Caranoran breathed. The elf fell to his knees beside Daphne as if his legs could not support him any longer. Disbelief and shock shone from his face, the emotions raw and painful to behold. “It cannot be,” he rasped. 

Bilbo saw it, how by degrees the disbelief faded, morphing into horrible grief. How eyes given to kindness and laughter reddened with tears, and a smooth brow furrowed with wrenching pain and fear. Bilbo’s heart clenched, for the loss marking the elf’s face was the mirror to his own. “No, Hwinneth.” Those bright eyes turned to Bilbo. “How could this happen?”

Bilbo’s throat thickened, robbing him of words. He could only shake his head, tears escaping down his cheeks. He dashed them away, looking about as if there might be some answer, some miracle to save them. 

Moaning, Caranoran tore at her sopping bandages, his eyes wide. What was revealed made the elf gasp. 

“’m sorry,” Aleks said, his words slurred. Caranoran’s tear-drenched face turned to the satyr. “Don’t think we’ll be staying,” the young man said in a low, thready voice. “Your moth’r…healer. You…know.”

A bestial bellow beyond them drew Bilbo’s attention, but not, he noticed, Caranoran’s. The prince uttered a cry too deep, too despairing for words to encompass. He gently scooped up his sister, drawing her onto his lap and rocking her. 

“No, Hwinneth. It is not time. I’ve yet to teach you Sindarin. You’ve not celebrated Year’s End with us.” Bilbo buried his face in one hand, a sob tearing through his chest at the elf’s words. Then Caranoran cried again. “Eru Ilúvatar,” he pleaded. “Not yet. Mandos, do not claim them. Do not take her where I cannot follow. I cannot say goodbye. Not so soon.”

Turning his back, Bilbo dropped his hand. With chin wobbling from his own unhindered cries, Bilbo saw Beorn, and his breath hitched. He did not wish to see yet another friend lost, but he could not look away. How wrong this all was. How wrong that death and evil should triumph over good, stealing away all the hope that had grown. Bofur and Daphne should have their future. Thorin should see his kingdom restored, and Aleks should win the braids he so coveted. How the satyr had tried to hide that desire behind a gruff façade, but all of the Company knew… This, none of this, was right.

The wolves – they yelped as Smaug chased after them, but they learned. As he watched, one managed to rip a scale free from the dragon. The wolf fell, scale dangling from its mouth with a look of surprise upon its furry face. It spat the scale out, and Bilbo swore it told the others, for in seconds, they all changed tactics. They tore at Smaug with no mercy, teeth clamping upon scales and powerful little bodies ripping them from their moorings. Smaug roared, snapping at one and then the other, but the werewolves’ speed was everything Aleks had told them. 

It wasn’t enough. Even with Beorn joining in, Bilbo doubted they could do sufficient damage, for Smaug, too, adapted. A slam of his tail sent one werewolf catapulting through the air. It crashed with a crunch of bones against the far wall. Another was seared as a wide jet of flame engulfed the area around him. 

The burn victim broke away, limping out of the fray and towards Bilbo and his charges. As it neared, the wolf’s shape distorted, leaving behind a young man as difficult to look upon as Aleks. 

Caranoran’s eyes widened, and his grip upon his sister tightened possessively. “Werewolf,” he identified.

The wolf-man fell to his knees, moaning in pain as his skin rippled. Like Aleks, ooze and puss emerged between blackened pieces of skin.

Caranoran’s voice whipped out like a lash. “What do you do here, werewolf? This is not your world.”

The man snarled at them, teeth bared. “Like we had a choice,” he snapped. “Our families are being held hostage.” He frowned at Aleks, concern rising as Aleks’s head turned towards him. 

“Who?” Aleks managed.

“Old Ones,” the man said, voice softening, subdued. “They want you. Both of you. You have no idea what happened in your absence.” 

“You cannot have them,” Caranoran declared roughly, tears tracking without stop down his cheeks.

“No?” the man mocked. “The Old Ones need them,” he said, leaning forward on knuckles. Bilbo gasped to notice new skin displacing the burned layers. Crispy pieces of flesh dropped from the werewolf, leaving behind restored flesh. “They die, elf. Do you have healers who can fix this?” He must have read the answer upon Caranoran’s face, for he continued. “The Old Ones can. Easily.” A grimace. “We must get them to _her_ in time or we all lose.”

“N-no,” Aleks refused.

The man’s head whipped around. “You’d see us die? You’d see our _families_ die? The children?”

Bilbo agreed with Aleks as the satyr closed his eyes and swallowed. “Not Daph,” he whispered.

The man shook his head sadly. “No choice. It’s both or nothing.”

“Then you have nothing,” Caranoran refused. Then his stern, grief-stricken face crumpled. “Let them go,” he whispered, tragedy filling his eyes. He hung his head, his silver hair spilling across his sister. “Not this,” he seemed to beg. “Why did you not warn me of _this,_ wizard?” For a long moment, the elf’s eyes scrunched closed, pain written upon his face. Then the elf’s head lifted. He sought Aleks. “You protect her this time, satyr.”

“What?” Bilbo gasped. “You know how much she fears them,” he protested.

Caranoran’s chin lifted. “I know better than you could possibly,” the elf said in a harsh voice. “I was _there._ I know what Faerie will do to my sister.” Bilbo swallowed as the elf’s gaze returned to the werewolf. “There is a man aiming a weapon at that dragon. All he needs is one clear shot of Smaug’s chest. He’s missing a scale there.”

“He’s missing more now,” Bilbo told him. 

Caranoran’s eyes closed a second time, and he held his sister tighter. “Then Bard will have better luck in gaining a shot. Draw the dragon to him, werewolf.” Bright eyes reopened, met the wolf’s. “If you can do that, you can get them out of here.”

“Bard is here?” the werewolf said, the name clearly meaning something to the man. Bilbo blinked in surprise as the man became a wolf before his eyes, almost as fast as he could blink. He’d never get used to that, he didn’t think. The wolf raised its head and howled.

OoOoOo

It was Belegon who spied him.

“Prince!” the guard shouted, halting their pell-mell progress across a narrow path above and burned-out village. 

Bofur halted, gasping for breath, and followed the guard’s pointed finger downward. A body lay there, one he recognized in an instant. “Brethil,” he whispered. “Nay.” Then louder, _“Nay.”_ He broke into a full run, leaping to another narrow path that angled downward towards the floor. He skidded to a halt at the elf’s feet. 

Not far from him, he heard Legolas’s voice. “And Ionor.” 

Horror stole over him. Both of his lass’s Royal Guards lay here in their own blood. _My Daphne._

His eyes raced across the square frantically. Splotches of red blood decorated no less than four separate places. Numb, his feet carried him to the nearest, a smear upon a wall. He hunched down, fingering the blood-soaked fabric at its base. He recognized the gold tracing. A roaring sound filled his ears. Though the fabric was not gold and green any longer, he knew. His head began to swim and his heart clenched. 

“Bofur!”

He was running ere Ori had finished saying his name. _Mahal, Eru, you cannot be so cruel. Surely you’d not take her._ Not again. Not after he’d tasted her maple kisses. Not after she’d proclaimed her love. 

He reached the doorway of the intact structure, grabbing Ori, eyes flying over the lad to assure himself he was well. That Ori had not a mark upon him allowed Bofur to breathe again. To hope. Ori stepped back, and Oin came into view. Bofur dropped to his knees as he scanned the rest of the room. “My lass, Ori. Where is she?” Oin needed medical treatment, and right quick. Arrows? Aye, Bofur decided upon spying the wounds. Arrows or javelins had left these marks upon the old healer.

“The orcs attacked,” the scholar said, collapsing beside him. The lad’s eyes shied away from him as if guilt-ridden. “She shielded me, Bofur.”

_Oh, lass. Tell me you didn’t._

“What say you?” Belegon interrupted. “Where is Lady Hwinneth.”

Ori’s gaze never left Bofur. “They took her.”

“Orcs?” Bofur asked, leaping to his feet. 

“No,” Ori said. _“They_ shot her. She was bleeding so much,” the scholar said in wrenching tones. “But then the werewolves took her.”

Werewolves. Aye, and he knew where they’d be heading. He waited for no more words. Bofur ran, each footstep punctuated by a desperate inner cry. _My lass. My Daphne._

OoOoOo

Thorin’s grasp upon Orcrist tightened. His left arm was useless after the arrow he’d taken to the shoulder. _Mahal._ What manner of creature was this that Eru had created? How could such a thing be?

Gandalf’s plummet halted with no warning, leaving their wizard framed in the center of Erebor’s open doors. Kíli reacted, lifting his bow, but Thorin slapped it down. Glare for glare, his nephew matched him until finally, Fíli put a hand on Kíli’s shoulder with a short shake of the head. 

“You’ve seen what that thing can do, Brother,” Fíli murmured.

Thorin met Fíli’s eyes. Aye, little did they need another arrow returned to them in the manner of the last volley. Thorin signaled for those nearby to back away, glaring at Fíli until he retreated, pulling his brother after him. Thorin remained. He’d not allow that thing to enter his kingdom. 

“I have no compunction about slaying you,” the Old One crooned. “In fact, I’d prefer it. You owe me much for stealing my naiads.”

Gandalf gasped in pain, crying out, but then the wizard spoke in an unfamiliar tongue and extended his stave. The Old One was flung from her feet, crashing down a dozen meters away. Gandalf was released and dropped to the floor. 

This time, the Old One did not recover so quickly. Thorin stepped forward and aided their wizard to his feet, reaching Gandalf a split-second before Thranduil. Together, the three waited her response. 

She struggled to her feet, her hair mussed and a rend upon one cheek. It healed, but not so swiftly. Once erect, she chanted in her alien language. Bolts of light shot at the wizard from a handful of directions. Gandalf thrust the two kings back and spun about, his staff dipping and rotating in an arc. 

The bolts hit and died, absorbed by the staff. Gandalf planted it upon the ground. “You will not enter this city.”

The female snarled.

OoOoOo

Aleks coughed, his lungs full of liquid – _blood,_ a part of him labeled – as the wolves and Beorn suffered wounds like his. They kept going, maneuvering the dragon, and Aleks willed them to succeed. For Thorin. For Fíli and Kíli.

He hoped the Durins lived, prayed it was so. For himself, the pain had passed bearable some time ago. He barely cared to fight. _Peace._ The longing for rest grew with each labored breath. Daph was fading - the satyr could feel it through the link. Now, finally, that bond had returned in full measure. Now, when it did them no good. 

_No,_ he denied. _The timing is perfect._ Wherever it was they were going, they’d go together. Unified in death as they’d struggled so long against being in life.

“Don’t you dare give up,” a voice whispered near his ear. Caranoran, he identified. “You must fight, Aleks Hunt. You must. And when the time comes, here is what you must do.”

Aleks listened with despair. The elf did not hold his punches. “You do it for Hwinneth,” he said time and again. Words flowed. Some Aleks heard, others drifted by.

He fought. He didn’t wish to, but he fought. He just wasn’t sure it would be enough.

OoOoOo

At last, Bard’s arrow flew, and the dragon screamed. Caranoran kissed his sister’s forehead as werewolves rushed from the scene, not waiting to witness the dragon’s demise. They collected Aleks first, then Daphne. 

Before they could depart, Prince Caranoran of the Woodland Realm stood to his full height. “They are ours, werewolf. Never forget that.” One wolf stared at him, inclining his head. Caranoran watched, robes coated in his sister’s blood, as they left with a speed unmatched by horses. In the blink of an eye, mayhap two, they were gone.

Caranoran frowned, turning about. Where had the hobbit gone? 

Beorn grumbled questioningly, the skin-changer’s head pointed towards where the twins had been carted off. 

Caranoran turned bleak eyes his way. “Let them go,” he reminded him. 

Beorn’s head reared up and a low growl escaped his lips. 

“That wizard had best not fail us,” Caranoran whispered. Beorn stared at him with hard eyes. At last, he bobbed his head. 

The men joined them, led by a triumphant Bard. 

“Congratulations, Bard,” Caranoran told him, blinking back the welling of tears. “Your aim is truly remarkable.” His head turned, gaze slipping to the exit through which the wolves had fled. _Eru keep you, penneth._ Guilt warred with belief. Had he done aright? 

“I believe we have a war to attend to,” the man said.

_Indeed._ With a last look around, Caranoran fell in behind Beorn as the skin-changer scented the air to gain his bearings. “Can you find the gates?” he asked him, uncertain the bear’s nose was so keen to lead them such a distance.

The bear nodded.

OoOoOo

He’d not make it in time.

That fear hounded Bofur with every breath. He’d near run his legs off getting to Oin and Ori. Now, he could scarce feel them. Each breath from his lungs was like fire, yet he refused to slow. 

_You cannot take her._ Bleeding. She’d been _bleeding._ _She’s terrified of Faerie, she is._ How badly? 

He rushed headlong down the narrow paths, unmindful of his own neck. He had to reach the gates. He had to beat those werewolves. 

Had she any idea how proud he was of her? To shield Ori as she had took courage, and that he valued. Yet, he felt stabbed to the quick, too. _You cannot take harm without me bleeding, my lass. Do you not understand that?_

OoOoOo

Thranduil spun around at the snarling cacaphony echoing through the hall. What sounded like hundreds of animals proved to be less than a dozen. His eyes flared, for rushing right towards him, leaping over men, elves, and dwarves alike, were the werewolves. Men scattered, but Thranduil held his place, lifting his weapons. His eyes locked upon one figure, and his heartbeat slowed. What remained of her dress was a blood-soaked banner dangling in her wake.

 _By Eru._ Horror stole over him in slow stages the closer they drew. At his side, the tip of Thorin’s blade dropped, proof of his own shock. 

“Mahal,” Oakenshield said. 

Only then did Thranduil spot the blackened husk of a man held by one of the other man-wolves. _Aleks,_ Thranduil labeled in disbelief. He could not live…surely. Not with such severe wounds. 

The leader landed before them with Aleks in his arms, and the dwarves present formed a line at Thorin’s back. The Old One must have seen her quarry, for the battle between the female and Gandalf intensified in decibel. Still, Thranduil did not turn away. 

“Thorin.”

Thranduil’s swords wavered at the naiad’s croak. 

Raw emotion chased across the King Under the Mountain’s face, an emotion Thranduil experienced as well. Their children. By Eru, how could this have come to pass? 

“Aleks,” Thorin groaned, stepping closer with free hand lifted, yet there was no single place upon the lad’s body he could touch without causing further harm. 

Green eyes slit. 

Thranduil turned to his daughter, watching her face, but she didn’t rouse. Blood splattered on the stone floor, the minute _drip, drip_ from her dress increasing his horror. How much blood could her small body stand to lose? Only the minute rise and fall of her chest testified to her continued existence. 

“Let them take us.”

Both kings stared at the satyr in disbelief. 

“It’s…” A sickening cough, followed by an abrupt cry. “Have to. They can heal…” 

_They can heal them,_ Thranduil finished, appalled. He found Thorin in the same, horrified state. 

“You cannot wish this. You cannot ask this of us. Aleks, we know what these monsters can do,” Thorin protested.

“No…time.” Again, those green eyes cracked open. “Trust. Has to happen. Old Ones…cannot betray a vow. Make her _swear,_ Thorin. Make her swear they won’t mess with our minds.”

“I will not let them have my daughter, naiad,” Thranduil said in a cold, cold voice. 

“Caranoran said…”

_Caranoran?_

“…to tell you. _Cenuvanyel rato,”_ the satyr said. “Said…believe. Running out of…time.” 

Thranduil could not move. He could not consign his daughter back into the hands of that world. Yet, Hwinneth did not speak Quenyan. She barely knew a dozen words of Sindarin. Aleks could not know the words he spoke. _I will see you soon,_ the Elvenking translated. What could his son mean? 

“Thorin,” the lad begged. “Please. Daph’s…dying. I’m not…staying…without her.”

OoOoOo

Thorin shoved Orcrist into Gloin’s keeping as he stepped right next to the werewolf, looking down upon his charge.

Fíli shouldered his way to Thorin’s side, his pale eyes bright. “Uncle,” Fíli said with a tremor.

Thorin could barely speak around the knot in his throat. _Mahal, Aleks. You brave, foolish satyr._ “You _always_ have a place in Erebor, Aleks. You hear me? You remember that. No matter where you go, or what you face, we will be here waiting for you to return. You’ve not failed me before. Do not fail me in this. You return, Aleks. You find the way, and you return to us.”

“My king,” Aleks rasped. 

Thorin’s attention turned to the Old One. 

“Wait.” At Aleks’s weak summons, Thorin’s head whipped back around. 

“Bofur,” Aleks struggled to say. He coughed, and blood leaked between his blackened lips. “Can’t follow. Don’t…let him. Tell him. Swear. I’ll keep her safe.”

Bifur broke into a spate of angry Khuzdul, tears streaking down his face and matting his beard. “Do not listen, Thorin,” Bifur demanded. “You cannot do this.”

Holding Aleks’s eyes, Thorin promised, “We’ll keep him here.” 

Bifur and others argued, their voices raised, but Thorin did not yield. Though he grieved at the wound Bofur was about to be dealt, he knew what Aleks was about. Should their naiads not survive, ‘twould be cruel, indeed, to let Bofur be consigned to a lifetime’s exile in Faerie. 

Bifur nudged him demandingly. 

“No,” Thorin said, lifting his voice in command. “You will obey me in this.” Thorin’s gaze burned into Aleks’s, the king’s throat welling with grief. “You are family, do you understand? Our hearts are yours.” He sensed more than saw his dwarves bobbing their heads at his words. 

Then, Thorin shoved any elves or men from his path until he neared Gandalf. “Halt!”

OoOoOo

Bofur almost fell down the last flight of stairs. Everyone faced outward, lined up across Erebor’s entrance. What were they doing? Why did they just stand there? A sickening suspicion. _No,_ a part of him instantly howled. “No!” he bellowed ere his feet hit the floor. His Company would not let his lass be taken. His king would never consent.

Tear-streaked faces turned his way, and pain such as he’d never experienced punched through his chest, stealing the heart from him. They’d not… They couldn’t. The eyes that met his were full of loss and regret. _Regret._

She could not be gone. Not without him. 

_“Nay!”_ He ran past Dori and Nori. Gloin was a blur through the tears flooding his eyes. Panic, the terror that his lass had left where he could not go, ruled him. ‘twas Bifur who caught him, and Thorin’s arms that ensured he remained caught.

“No,” Thorin said, but the word made no sense. 

“Where is she?” he demanded, his anger surging so that his hands fisted. “Release me!” He threw a punch at his cousin, furious that any would dare bar him from reaching his lass. He struggled, shouting mindlessly until his gaze stumbled upon a sight that stole the wind from him. He sagged. _My Daphne._ Horror rose, for his lass, his sweet, maple-scented lassie, hung limp from a werewolf’s arms. Her life’s blood drained from her, turning her skin a marble white. Could she even live? 

“My lass,” he said, feeling as if a part of him died to see her so. “Bifur,” he whispered, his voice broken for all to hear. Broken as the pieces of him that cracked and shattered, and then cracked still more into smaller and smaller pieces. 

And beside her… Another fist of loss slammed home, and he fell to his knees, grabbing at Thorin’s arm. “Aleks.”

“Aye. Aleks,” Thorin said, his voice as hoarse as his own. 

“You cannot let them take them, Thorin,” he said, turning to his king. He’d beggar himself, debase himself, anything to keep them here. “My king, _please._ Do not let them take my lass from me.” His cousin grabbed him from his king and hugged him tight. Thorin’s eyes met his over his cousin’s shoulder. Those iron gray orbs turned red, unashamedly flowing with tears. 

A blinding light split the air, and a rushing sound followed. Bofur reacted, again attempting to break free, hat lost in the tussle, as a creature smirked at them while the werewolves passed through the glowing space in the air. One by one, they disappeared. Bofur roared as his Daphne vanished before his eyes. 

“Remember your promise, female!” Thorin bellowed. 

She stepped through, and as Bofur bellowed his lass’s name one last time, the light vanished. 

They were gone. He stared. The world had ended. It must have, he thought, for surely it could not hold such pain. ‘twas his brother who hauled him close, and his brother who told him it would be well. 

Well? Bofur’s optimism had left him. His hope was gone, stolen whilst his king and friends stood aside. Why, a part of him yelled in despair and fury. _Why?_ What could cause them to allow this?

OoOoOo

Thranduil stared at the distraught dwarf, a truth at last settling home. The dwarf loved his Hwinneth with the same intensity that Thranduil did his Rinel. The proof stared him in the face, moving him to pity and compassion.

Hwinneth was gone. He’d allowed her to be taken. Why, he asked himself. _Why?_ What could Caranoran’s message mean? 

He longed to succumb to his grief, to allow himself tears and sorrow, but his eyes fell upon the fields before him. Duty remained. Grief and explanation would come later. For now, there were injured in desperate need of aid, and a dragon in need of killing.


	54. Welcome to Faerie

### Chapter 53

All of existence was pain. 

That, Aleks learned well. It stretched into a never-ending infinity in which each inhalation was accompanied by fiery agony, and every twitch of muscle tore paper-thin flesh. He persisted whether he wished it or not, for death eluded him, refusing to hear his cries for mercy. On and on, it continued. The pain did not abate. He endured because he had no choice. There was no escape.

Until the pain vanished without warning. The abrupt cessation was such a shock, his eyes flew open. Aleks gasped, fingers curling into the surface beneath him. Had he died, then? Another, deeper breath, and his eyes sealed shut. No pain. The bliss of it drew tears down his cheeks. He was free. Aleks breathed, savoring each painless inhalation. 

One hand dashed the moisture from his face. It was over. He almost felt giddy in his relief. His hand flopped back to his side, and he blinked the world into focus. Black fabric draped like a tent overhead. 

_Hold up._ His brow furrowed as he stared at the incongruous sight. Where was he? He tried to remember what had preceded this, but his brain felt sluggish. He lay upon a soft surface – a mattress? His fingers pressed down, measuring the density. _Mattress,_ he confirmed. He was on a canopy bed. Dude, why would there be a canopy bed in Erebor? It totally went against the dwarves’ gruff, no-frills demeanor. 

His head tilted, bringing more of his surroundings into view. Aleks’s frown deepened. The fabric wasn’t the only thing in shades of midnight. The floor, walls, and bed beneath him all looked dipped in uniform monochromatic black. _Hello._ Had he died and landed in a _Dracula_ flick?

Memory flared like an arc of lightning across the heavens. He bolted upright, heart thundering against his breastbone. He’d listened to that elf, and Thorin had done as he’d asked, handing him over to that freaky female. Of their own accord, his arms rose, and he stared at his hands in disbelief. He patted himself, barely pausing at the silky black robe draped around his body. Tugging the tie at his waist loose, he exposed the expanse of chest, shoulder and hip, his heart thumping as he found each in perfect condition. With a queer sense of dread, he lifted one foot and stared. A scar he’d borne since childhood no longer bisected the ball of his left foot. 

What had he done? What had he _done?_ Aleks’s hand rubbed over his head. Not even the discovery that only stubble remained could distract him from the incredible truth: he was an idiot. How could he have done it? 

_Daphne._ He surged from the bed. He’d promised Caranoran he’d protect her, and Thranduil had pretty much ordered him to it – not that _his_ opinion mattered. Anger simmered to life. They were in Faerie. He’d done as the elf had said, and they were in _Faerie._ What was supposed to happen now? 

Thorin’s face swam before his eyes. _Don’t fail me,_ his king had said. _You return to us._

Aleks took a deep breath. _Don’t ask for much, do you, Thorin?_ He crossed to the room’s only window. His fingers bunched around the drapes as dread rose inside him. He didn’t want to look. The fallout from what he’d permitted could be so much worse than his preconceived ideas. 

_Little late for second thoughts, Hunt._ They were here. He had to deal with it. He flicked back the black curtains. 

The landscape outside his window was dim, darkened. At first, he assumed it was sunset, but a glance heavenward revealed the sun positioned directly overhead. He stiffened at the sight. That sun was wrong, every part of it, from its bluish tint and weak light to the hazy purple sky it produced. Aleks’s fingers curled. Instant, visceral hunger for yellow sunshine burst into existence. His skin clamored to feel a true sun’s warmth with sudden, desperate intensity. Stretching out one hand, all he got was cool air as a bluish glow illuminated his flesh. 

His belly knotted. That insipid blue drove home just how _not_ Earth or Middle Earth this was. He’d known it before, but now the fact sank in with the feeling of finality, like the sound of a prison door clanging shut. 

A chill stole up his spine as he retracted the limb. His gaze dropped, and that chill grew sharp, jagged edges as a female’s shrill scream rent the air. Before the question arose in his mind, he checked and ascertained - the scream had not come from Daph. His sister slept, her mind untroubled. _For now._

His hands tightened about the onyx windowsill, and he hung his head. Every story he’d ever heard about this place began to race through his mind. The games. The fiendish delight the Old Ones took in playing with other people. The other monsters that dwelled here. 

Aleks braced himself, and continued with his visual exploration. He was in a tower, some black-bricked, angular monstrosity straight out of a Hollywood flick. _The only thing missing is the evil sorcerer,_ he jeered to himself. Then, _Scratch that._ An Old One qualified on both counts: evil and sorcerer-like. At the foot of the tower, people huddled in groups. Humans, he identified by their energy signatures. He couldn’t see that clearly, but he thought he spotted blue jeans on some. 

Could they perhaps be captives from Earth? 

“Of course.”

Aleks whipped around, ready with a snide comment. The words died unspoken, and he shrank back against the wall beside the window. The dude approaching him had the most horrible energy signature Aleks had ever seen, bar none. No mere glow, this was a flaming, molten vortex that whipped around like a cyclone. It’s light was so brilliant, he couldn’t look upon it long, his eyes watering and squinting with one glance. He ditched his satyr’s sight in a hurry, reverting to human. Instant relief. He blinked afterimages from his scorched retinas, his heart thumping wildly.

The guy made not a sound as he moved, putting Aleks to mind of an elf, except this guy was taller even than Caranoran. _And about a gazillion times freakier than Thranduil at his most threatening._ Black hair hung to his waist, and the guy’s eyes burned with a smoky light. The face was all wrong for an elf, too – this dude’s bone structure was all razor-sharp edges and slanted eyebrows, giving him a more sinister air. With his each step, a sapphire robe slid across the glossy onyx floor. 

_Old One,_ Aleks labeled with a heaping dose of dismay. 

“Earth did, after all, declare war upon us,” the guy said. 

Aleks swallowed. _Poor saps._ But it was himself and his sister he was more concerned about, not the moronic humans who had bearded the lion and found him much more dangerous than they’d dreamed. “M-my sister?” he dared to ask, irritated at the fear he betrayed. 

The Old One smiled, and Aleks’s bladder threatened to dump cargo and skedaddle. It was that freaky. The creature stared at him, and Aleks got the distinct impression the guy could see into his head. _Duh, idiot. Old One._

The creature continued in a croon, “It seems Muriste made a vow on behalf of us all, Aleks Hunt.” Hands clasped behind him, the Old One glided towards the window. Aleks ditched pride and sidled away with each step the guy took. “We could have had such fun. We could have made your wildest dreams come true. Freija, for example,” the man continued. 

Wait. What? Aleks forgot to be scared as his temper pricked. 

The man clucked his tongue. “Alas, you must endure the hard reality.”

Anger turned tail and ran in the face of that ominous proclamation. “Oh?” 

The man smiled again. Aleks wished he would quit doing that. This dude should not smile. Ever. “It has become apparent that naiads are essential to preserve Faerie’s stability. No naiads, and Faerie begins to wane.”

Uh-huh. Whatever. 

_“We_ begin to wane.” Clearly, that was the more serious consideration. 

Wait. His flesh prickled. These Old Ones had gone to the trouble of hunting them down all the way in Middle Earth. They needed naiads. But that would mean… Just who had sent them to Middle Earth? 

“That would be the question,” the male murmured, and Aleks felt the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. “Who dared take what is ours?” 

At that moment, Aleks was glad he didn’t know, for he suspected this creature would have plucked the information straight from his mind. 

“You presume correctly,” the man said in a silken voice. 

_Mahal._

“You hope to escape and return to this Middle Earth,” the creature… “Echnari,” the Old One warned him with narrowed eyes. 

Aleks hastily realigned his thinking. Echnari. He wouldn’t forget it. Using any derogatory term would probably be a bad idea. Really bad. 

“Correct,” the echnari told him, his smoky eyes sliding towards him. “You will be allowed to roam my valley at will. You will not be bothered unless you attempt to disobey me or interfere with my games. Do not try to leave.” A look crossed the echnari’s face that unnerved Aleks just as much as the dude’s smile. “Your dryad damaged herself,” the Old One continued. 

Aleks weighed his options, but then figured the guy could read his mind anyway. “She did.”

“She will never be able to take tree form again,” the Old One said with satisfaction. “Should you elect to turn White Stag, she will remain behind to pay the price.”

Aleks’s lips flattened. “I’d never desert her like that.”

“Good.” The creature turned and made for the door. “You will not find her,” the guy continued. Those burning black eyes returned to him. “Do not try. You cost me, naiad. Healing the two of you cost us all.” A thrill of fear traced down Aleks’s spine at the hostility he read in the guy’s eyes. “Be thinking of your preferences,” the echnari said. 

“My preferences?” Aleks’s voice broke on the last syllable. 

“Understand, we will allow you latitude rarely given to any of our subjects,” the echnari said in a low, ominous rumble. “We require offspring from you.” 

Offs—

_What?_ Aleks’s belly dropped into his ankles even as his eyes bugged out. 

“To preserve Faerie. Choose, Aleks Hunt. Choose the race from which your bride will come.” That cold smile again appeared. “Or brides. Though I do not promise you will gain your wish, I will take it into account. We do need as many children as can be provided.” 

_Mahal, Eru, and all the Valar,_ Aleks thought. 

“You have one week.”

One…week. Aleks staggered backwards, collapsing onto the mattress. The sound of a lash and subsequent scream through the window caused him to flinch even as it drove home just how real his plight was. 

The echnari left as quietly as he’d arrived. Aleks sat staring off into space. One week. And instead of having their heads messed with, he and Daph would be fully aware of whatever happened. No illusion to dull the horror. _No illusion to magnify it, either,_ a part of him tacked on. 

Thorin must have made that first one – Muriste? – promise not to mess with their minds as he’d asked. Aleks wondered if the request had been a stupid one. They were trapped. And they were going to be used. 

“I do not like these echnari.”

Aleks startled. “Bilbo?” Then immediately, “What are you _doing_ here?” 

The hobbit flapped hand a hand. _“Ssh!”_ Bilbo looked nervously at the open doorway. “Not so loud.”

Aleks grimaced. In a soft voice, “Sorry, man. But what are you doing here?” 

“At the moment,” Bilbo said, thumbs tucked in his vest pockets, “striving my best to avoid detection. I’d thank you not to betray my presence.”

_Right._

Bilbo darted another look at the open doorway. “I don’t know about you, Master Aleks, but I’m not of a mind to linger in this place. You’ve been given the run of the valley. Head there. I’ll find you.” The hobbit vanished as he donned the Ring.

Aleks bobbed his head nervously. _Valley. Right._

Deep breath. _One thing at a time, Hunt._ They’d been in some tight fixes before. Somehow, some way, he’d get them through this. 

The alternative was unthinkable.

OoOoOo

Bilbo remained at Aleks’s side as the satyr tip-toed out of the bedchamber. Bilbo didn’t blame Aleks for his obvious agitation. If anything, Aleks should be more frightened, but then Aleks had not been listening at windows or spying from corners as Bilbo had been doing. Aleks’s predicament, and Daphne’s, was worse than Aleks likely thought. Whatever he was imagining, Bilbo had seen the reality.

For each of the three days his friend had lain in a healing sleep, Bilbo had tried to formulate a plan to rescue the naiad twins from the echnari, growing ill with every new discovery he made. He could not allow his friends to suffer the fate laid out before them, but he was not altogether certain he could extricate them, not alone at any rate, and he certainly did not trust the local denizens he’d encountered. With all of them susceptible to seduction or beguilement at echnari whim, how could he? 

_I must find a way to undo this mess._

He wished fervently for Gandalf’s counsel. The wizard was certain to have some ideas about what to do. The suffering here could not be right. Surely Eru and the Valar would not allow it to continue? Yes, there were monsters here, and many of them to be quite honest. But there were also their victims, races trapped here against their volition. 

He padded along beside Aleks, his hand upon Sting’s hilt. Somehow, there must be a way to save his friends and perhaps improve things for the residents of this land. He only hoped he could discover it.

OoOoOo

_Daph? Daphne?_

Aleks sweat bullets despite the brisk nip to the air. The longer he thought about the echnari’s words, the more they sank in like a crocodile’s jaws snapping shut. If he’d had any inkling this future had awaited them, he’d have told Caranoran where to stuff his advice. Better he and Daph head wherever it was the dead went than this. 

His sister, he suspected, was going to absolutely freak. _Daph, you’re going to have to forgive me._ He’d acted under the assumption the elf had known something – Caranoran had implied it. 

His temper rekindled. Stupid, interfering elf. Why, he asked himself, had he listened? The thought of having hordes of women shoved at him sickened him. He’d spent too long with the dwarves and their sense of honor to see it as anything other than repulsive. And the idea of his sister having to fend off some random guy made him see red. _No way,_ the satyr side of him growled. 

But how in Durin’s name was he supposed to avert it? _Daph will make them pay._ If she healed enough, any loser thinking she’d be an easy mark would be torn apart by the trees and plants. _The echnari will know that._ They probably knew more about naiads than he and his twin did. After all, they’d had centuries to study them. Play with them. _They’ll probably make a game of **this,** too._

Dude, he wished that pessimistic voice would shut up. 

Send Bilbo, maybe? Bilbo, they wouldn’t be expecting. But Bilbo wouldn’t be able to evade detection for long. Not if he was actively protecting Daphne. 

_Daph?_ Feeling along the twin bond, he found her yet asleep. Nudge as he might, she didn’t rouse. Frowning, he worried on that bone, too, as he descended a curving stairwell, one hand on the filigree banister. Could they have drugged her? Was she not yet healed? 

He raked a hand across his head, and his steps stumbled at the reminder. He grumbled under his breath. Kíli would laugh this up. So much for besting the younger Durin. Aleks’s face was bare as a baby’s bum. He’d even lost his eyebrows. 

Aleks exited the tower and halted. The black-haired echnari stood apart from the mess and noise of the human captives and their lesser fae guards. Aleks couldn’t see the dude do anything, but the results were plain. Random people wandered away from family and friends with bemused or ecstatic expressions. Their loved ones tried to restrain them, but they fought free, climbing over any obstacle to get at whatever it was they saw. Aleks had to turn away, the echnari’s words ringing in his ears. _Mahal._ These people were going to be messed up if they survived what was done to them. 

That settled it. _I owe you, Thorin._ Knowing the truth beat the snot out of the alternative. 

He ignored the people who called out as he passed, his steps accelerating and shoulders hunched. He could not help them. He couldn’t fathom how he’d be able to even help himself or Daphne. He gave the only gift he had to give: his absence. He’d not stand around and gawk at their degradation. 

_Why didn’t they listen?_ The lesser fae had warned the humans of Earth, over and over again. 

He broke into a lope, and then a run. 

At the base of the hill, he looked back. The black tower sat like a freaky despot on his throne, king of all he surveyed. It gave Aleks the willies, so he hurried away. Forest closed in around him, filtering out the sounds of fear and despair. His muscles began to unlock, but then he got a full look at the forest. 

Like the sky above, it was trippy. It wasn’t Mirkwood with its decaying trees and malevolent denizens, but it sure wasn’t a…a _sane_ place, either. The plants… It was as if someone had removed yellow from the color wheel. Everything was an odd mixture of red, blue, and purple. There were no yellows, no greens or browns. Combined with the blue sun overhead, the landscape could hardly have looked more alien if he’d been dumped on the moon Io. 

The forest beasts were off, too. As he walked, he observed. Aleks saw small animals typically categorized as prey band together to take down a wolf. If that wasn’t enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck, the successful animals then turned upon one another in a rabid frenzy. He watched, horrified, his feet slow to move on from the sickening sight. He saw a rabbit feasting like a scavenger upon the corpse of a rodent, its white fur marred by splotches of red blood. _Evil Easter Bunny, anyone?_ Repulsion grew. What kind of twisted place was this? 

Appa’s stories, the bizarre and most outlandish of them, proved real before his eyes. None of the animals was what he’d label mentally healthy. Even the most simpleminded of birds failed to behave normally. Aggressive, all of them, and territorial to the point of actual instances of them tearing into each other with beaks and talons. 

_Echnari,_ he blamed without doubt. Aleks flinched at the violence all around him, his satyr’s senses smarting. Insect-like prickles ran up and down his skin. How did any satyr live here? How could any satyr remain sane faced with this on a daily basis? 

His brow furrowed, and his steps lagged. _Hold up._ Why did the echnari need him and Daph, anyway? From his parents’ tales, there were plenty of naiads who hadn’t escaped Faerie. And there had been naiads on Earth, too. He’d not met any, but then again, his parents had been an oddity – a cross-mating that had been scandalous at the time. They’d been virtual pariahs to the rest of naiad society. 

Aleks stopped beneath the shelter of a weeping willow, the safest looking tree to his leery eye. The oaks glowed this sinister cerulean, and the pines’ ruby-red needles looked a bit too substantial for his comfort. Could they be as dangerous as they looked? 

_I don’t want to know._ Then right away, a counter-thought: _I need to know._ If the freaky animals and their violence grated on his nerves like rough grade sandpaper, the plants were probably going to do the same to Daph.

He turned in a circle, taking in his immediate surroundings. Nothing seemed overtly threatening, and to be honest, he doubted anything was. The echnari had plans for him. All those schemes would come crashing down if he or Daph got eaten by some Faerie monster. 

Taking a deep breath, he assumed full satyr form to conduct a deeper scan. No way was he needlessly risking Bilbo. Animal signatures lit up all around, but the coast was clear of anything humanoid. “Bilbo?” 

The hobbit appeared, grabbing his arm and pulling him from the tree. In a hush, “I would not advise standing there.”

Aleks startled. “What? Why not?”

Bilbo waved his hands, gesturing him to quiet while at the same time throwing a wary eye towards the tree in question. “Shh. They respond to noise. And they eat people.”

Aleks did a lightning quick double-take. “Say what?”

Bilbo yanked him further from a tree that rustled in response to his shocked exclamation. “Shh! They eat people,” the hobbit informed him. Dude, it was no wonder Bilbo had such a death’s grip upon Sting. “Animals as well.”

Aleks gulped. “All of them?” he whispered, his attention firmly on the trees for any signs of movement. 

“I for one am not waiting for evidence either way,” Bilbo said with an emphatic shake of the head. “I intend to keep my distance.” A pause. “Watch for vines as well.”

Uh-huh. He’d do that. _Good safety tip._ He looked at the hobbit, a surge of gratitude taking him by storm. Bilbo had followed them into a new world, sight unseen. How did he ever repay something like that? He grabbed the hobbit into an abrupt hug. Bilbo squawked at first, then patted his back with awkward affection. 

“Thanks.” Pulling back, Aleks pretended his eyes weren’t bright and watery and cleared his throat. “I should send you away,” he said roughly. “I know I should.”

“I shouldn’t think you would expect me to go,” the hobbit said. “I know full well that _you,_ Aleks, would not if our roles were reversed.”

No, he wouldn’t. 

“There is also the slight difficulty in not knowing how to return.”

_“Slight_ difficulty?” Aleks repeated, rubbing his face with both palms. Dropping his hands, he continued, “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re here.” A pause. “This is so much worse than Goblin Town.” 

“The echnari are very dangerous,” Bilbo agreed, tousling his mop of curls with one hand. “Notwithstanding the lands themselves. Master Aleks…”

“Aleks,” he corrected.

Bilbo lifted serious eyes to him. “You are a member of the Company. The others could not possibly tag along unnoticed, but I’m certain each would have jumped at the chance to do so had they been able.”

Possibly. Probably. Ah, who was he kidding? Bilbo was right. 

“Bilbo, you took a horrible risk. These echnari can read minds. What if they had detected you? Or worse, what if they find out about you from me?”

“Not to worry,” the hobbit told him. “I’ve been listening. The echnari are not what they once were.” 

_Huh?_ The idea of a more powerful echnari was enough to make Aleks ill. 

“I do not believe they can reach or detect the mind of one they cannot see with their eyes. They can no longer listen to multiple people at once,” Bilbo added. “They can affect them, but they cannot delve into their minds so simply nor so deeply. Unless you are thinking of me actively and one of them reads you, I shall remain a secret. This newest limitation is one they are most unhappy about.” Bilbo dug through a satchel at his hip, drawing out a cloth-wrapped slab of something bread-like.

“What is this?” Aleks asked as he plunked the piece Bilbo handed him into his mouth.

“I saved it.”

“This is Beorn’s bread,” he identified at once. No mistaking the distinctive taste. Beorn’s bread always had that undertone of honey. 

“Why, yes. It is.”

“You saved Beorn’s bread?”

“Did I not just say so?”

But, it had been weeks since they’d seen him. Aleks stared at the hobbit with big eyes as he took another big bite. “Why?”

The hobbit fiddled with the buttons on his vest. “Given past events, I thought it a good idea.”

Fair enough. The Company had near starved during their first foray into Mirkwood. “You were saying?”

Bilbo shook out the now-empty piece of cloth and folded it neatly before stowing it away. He handed Aleks a water pouch. “I’ve learned a bit by listening as the echnari healed the two of you and argued. I’ve not encountered a more volatile people.”

“Not even orcs?” Aleks asked, curious.

Bilbo’s lips twisted. “Perhaps orcs,” he granted. “From what I’ve heard, naiads balance the ebb and flow of power here. I do not believe they were aware of this fact until all of the naiads here elected to abandon themselves as trees and stags.”

Aleks choked, spewing water. “All of them?” he wheezed.

“All of them,” Bilbo affirmed. “From what I’ve witnessed, life here is not pleasant.”

“Understatement,” Aleks mumbled with a frown, returning the water pouch to the hobbit. 

Bilbo stowed it away. “At any rate, the echnari panicked when they realized Faerie weakened in the absence of naiads. They sent that Muriste in search of replacements in the Earth Realm, unaware of the war there. When she arrived, only a handful of you remained. She grabbed you and your twin, but the rest were slain before it was possible to reach them.”

Wait. He and Daph were it? Like, really it? 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. How, he wanted to know, had he and Daph ended up on Middle Earth? The echnari hadn’t sent them. The wizards had not called them. What did that leave? _Does it matter?_ Uh, yeah. What if they had an unknown benefactor that could rescue them from this? _And then what, genius? The echnari found you once. Think they can’t do it again?_

“So they need us,” he said. 

“Most desperately so.” Bilbo’s brown eyes stared up at him intently. “Master Aleks…”

“Aleks.”

A roll of the eyes. “Aleks. I will find Daphne.”

“You heard what they said? What they intend to force us into?” he asked, unable to meet Bilbo’s gaze as he posed his question. 

“I heard.”

“Bilbo…” How to ask?

“Of course I will protect her. She is my friend,” the hobbit said with a note of censure. Then more briskly, “I must be off. We must learn all we can about these Old Ones and their lands. You rest and build your strength.”

“Do you think we stand a chance?” he asked quietly. 

Bilbo met his gaze head-on, his face tight with worry. “To be truthful, Aleks, I fear escaping may be next to impossible.”

Aleks’s shoulders slumped as hope piddled down the drain. “Bilbo, if it comes down to it, don’t risk yourself.” The words were dragged from him. He didn’t want to utter them, but the honor and duty Thorin had taught him forced the words from his lips. “Cut and run, dude. Don’t waste your life on a lost cause.”

Bilbo frowned at him. “I’ll be careful.”

“No, I mean…”

“I know what you mean, and I won’t breathe word of that request to Bofur when we see him again.” Bilbo’s face lightened with a brief smile as Aleks grimaced. Bofur, Aleks suspected, would have thumped him for telling to hobbit to save himself. Bilbo touched Aleks’s forearm. “I wouldn’t count myself any kind of man to let Daphne be assaulted.”

Dude. Aleks wiped his eyes. “I owe you.”

When there was no answer, he craned around. Bilbo had gone.

_One week._ Aleks decided not to waste one minute of his reprieve. Time to measure out the boundary of his cage.

OoOoOo

I woke to my brother’s cajoling voice. _Paging Daphne. Come in, Daphne._ A measured silence, the feeling of inspection through the twin bond. A warm breeze of a smile laced with something nervous. _There she is!_

Ha-ha. My lips twitched. Wait. I was hearing Aleks. Glee surged through me. I was healed! I was—

Memory returned, and the glee melted like ice cream in a broiler. I shot straight up, finding myself sprawled on a blanket of baby blue grass in the center of a perfectly circular glade. All around, bizarre trees filled the horizon. They sky was purple and… Huh? My chin lifted, and I stared upward. Why was the sky purple? Then downward. Why was the grass blue?

A kernel of icy fear swelled in my gut like a cancerous tumor. I knew of only three places I could be: Earth, Middle Earth, and Faerie. This was decidedly not Earth-like, and last time I’d checked, Middle Earth did not have blue grass. But I couldn’t be in Faerie. It made no sense. Yet the sky was _purple. Faerie_ had a purple sky, or so Appa’s tales had said. I tried to tell myself I was being silly. One did not simply wake up…on…a new…world. I went from zero to maxing out my terror quotient in about three seconds flat. 

_It’s not as bad as it seems,_ Aleks rushed to say. 

_The sky is purple, Aleks,_ I shrilled, stuck on that fact. I looked down at my body and found myself draped in this gauzy emerald robe that puddled around my ankles. I fumbled for the familiar comfort of Bofur’s bracelet and touched bare skin. No bracelet. I stared, loss adding to my meltdown. I couldn’t have lost it. I couldn’t…

I ditched that, staring at the sky, the grass, my robe, and the trees. My mind began to tabulate the evidence. I’d been shot three times with metal-tipped arrows. I’d bled. A lot. I remembered the sensation of a hot poker eating its way deeper and deeper into my body. Yet, here I was, free from pain. I tugged on the robe’s sash and searched out my hip and side. No scars. I gasped for breath, beginning to hyperventilate. This could not be happening. None of this was possible. We’d been in Erebor!

_Please tell me we died,_ I said with zero amusement whatsoever. Regret bonged from my twin like the tolling of a massive bell. Answer enough. 

_WE’RE IN FAERIE!_ I bellowed down the link, on my feet and running before my brain caught up. Where I was going, I had no idea, only that I had to run. Miscolored trees flashed by as my bare feet carried me past them. 

Guilt flared from my twin. _Daph, calm down._

Uh. No. “Daph” was gone for the moment. Fear alone drove me, and I was only too happy to let it have the driver’s seat. This chick was checking out, thank you very much.

_Daph, stop._

_No._

_You have to stop!_

No, I really didn’t. Slap, slap, slap, my feet flew. I knew what dwelled in Faerie. Who was to say this was even Aleks?

_Will you quit it? You are not making sense!_ Worried impatience. _Look, the trees are dangerous. You need to calm down so…_

Wham! I slammed full-tilt into something. The breath whooshed from my lungs as I fell to my rump, staring with big eyes at…at… Nothing? Moisture prodded one hand to my throbbing nose to find it wet with blood. I sat, nose drip, drip, dripping, while my gaze sharpened, focusing beyond where I’d collided with thin air. My ragged breaths hitched. 

_Slowly. Back away,_ Aleks said.

Uh, yeah. I got that. I inched backwards, staying low to the ground, eyes glued to the scene. A handful of humans danced around like mad, twirling and twirling as laughter spilled from their lips. Their clothes were ragged and torn, and their lips looked crusty from lack of water, yet none of them seemed to notice. An Old One was either playing with them or had discarded them, leaving them in this helpless state. Movement drew my eyes into the trees’ canopies. 

_Mahal,_ Aleks whispered.

Scuttling through the trees was one of the famed predators of Faerie: the arachne. The Greeks had thought there was only one. Those of us who had originated from here knew better. Unlike run-of-the-mill spiders, the half-spider, half-woman creatures hunted in packs. As, I trembled to see, they were doing now. With a silent signal, the females leaped from the trees and tackled the humans. Only then did the people wake up. I shuddered as the screaming began.

_Daph, stay still,_ Aleks cautioned as a handful of the arachne broke away to scout the surrounding area. 

Nope, couldn’t do that. My legs kept shoving me away as my eyes watched each person get trundled up like Frodo with Shelob, the victims shrieking until silken threads bound their mouths. They were not dead, a detached part of me whimpered. But I bet they wished they were. 

A tree burst into movement from the arachne’s rear, lashing at one of the spider-women with vines and branches. A big, gaping maw appeared where only smooth bark had been, and pin prickles of horrified disbelief broke out upon my skin. The other females ignored the struggle as their fellow was slowly overcome and consumed, intent upon their prey.

One of the nearer females spotted me. Her crimson eyes ignited, and she leaped at me, her eight legs boosting her like a catapult. 

_Mahal,_ Aleks breathed. Then, _Run. Now._

Smack. The arachne collided with the same invisible something I had. The air rippled like a curtain, absorbing the impact. Scrabble for purchase though she did, it shed her like a bad habit, dumping her on the ground. Candy-red eyes narrowed as they stared through the invisible wall at me. The arachne’s long, bony face undulated first one way, then the other. Her fist smacked the invisible whatsit, again causing that barely perceptible ripple. With a frown, her lean fingers teased across its surface but found no holes. 

She abandoned me as a lost cause with a sudden burst of speed, rejoining her sisters. The lot of them hoisted their prizes overhead and scuttled up the trees. They never looked for their lost member, and the tree that had consumed her looked like a normal tree again. In seconds, the forest appeared empty, the arachne and their victims gone. Silence. 

I jumped to my feet and ran the way I’d come. Terror spiraled through me, robbing me of all thought but one: to flee. Aleks said things to me, but the words were no more than a soundtrack underscoring my petrified flight. _Faerie._ I ran and ran, dodging around trees and scrambling over roots that rose up before me. Branches and twigs snatched at my hair, tearing strands loose and fueling my terrified state. Aleks attempted to push calm at me through our link, but his efforts were doomed to fail given the bonfire of panic roaring through me. He stood not a chance of ousting me from my crazed condition. 

That is until I tripped and rolled down a hill, splatting into the pool of mud at the bottom. 

_STOP!_ Aleks’s command was softened by the concern flooding down the link from him. _Daph, I’m here, okay? You aren’t alone. Please don’t do this. We’re in Faerie. Thorin made them promise, Daph. They can’t mess with our minds without breaking oath._

I pushed my chest and face free of the mud with trembling arms, each breath a wheezing, freaked-out inhale. My heart hurled itself against my breastbone with painful intensity. We were in Faerie. We were in _Faerie._ My eyes flew, unable to settle anywhere for fear of missing some new threat. Thorin made them promise. Thorin made… _He sent us here?_ The absolute feeling of betrayal had me feeling as soppy as the mud.

_He let Marcus take us. On my say-so,_ Aleks said softly, radiating guilt. 

On his say-so. I collapsed onto my butt, mud oozing between my toes. With arms locked around my knees, I rocked back and forth, trying to absorb what I was told. 

_Daph? Don’t cut me off._ A trace of fear, hastily stifled. 

I should have been furious, but I was too busy hyperventilating, each breath a minute gasp. We were in Faerie. There was no escape. 

With tentative care, my twin asked me, _How much do you love Bofur?_

What kind of question was that? 

_Will you do the most difficult thing you’ve ever done? For him?_

I closed my eyes, my forehead resting upon my muddy knees. My toymaker’s face surfaced before my mind’s eye. There was little I wouldn’t attempt for him, but I didn’t quite get where Aleks was going with this. There was no escape from Faerie. Not intact, anyway. 

_Can you hold it together? For him?_ Aleks pressed.

Could I? What was the point? 

_Bilbo’s here._

My head popped up. _Repeat that?_ Because I could have sworn he’d said…

_Bilbo’s here._

Bilbo. Here. Emotions surged – hope, alarm, dismay. _What?_

Wry amusement. _I think he decided that since we stomped all over the time-line, he could, too._

Merciful heavens. _Aleks, what happened?_

_Do you want the long version or the Cliff’s Notes?_


	55. Dryad Power

### Chapter 54

Bilbo weaved in one direction, then the other. Lights danced all around, and music seemed to flit through the air. He almost removed the Ring, curious to see what colors zoomed around him, but he couldn’t seem to find his hand. He tripped over his own feet, and then fell onto his rump. He felt like he’d had a dozen too many of the Green Dragon’s finest followed up by…well, he couldn’t quite match anything to what he felt.

 _Lesson learned, you foolish Took,_ he scolded himself. Don’t eat Faerie food. Not until he located Mistress Daphne and was assured of what was safe for consumption.

A tree’s root inched in his direction. Awareness of his peril jerked his mind somewhat out of its dizzy haze. Bilbo scooped up Sting, appalled that he’d dropped it in the first place. Inching away, he awkwardly stabbed at the woody tendril. Sting bit deeply into the worm-like appendage, and the thing retreated in a hurry. But then, the forest around groaned as branches came to life. Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat as a dozen wooden arms swept across the ground in search of him. 

As Aleks would say, not good. Bilbo crawled away, the ground undulating beneath him. Whether it was from the food he’d ingested distorting his vision or the trees doing something beneath the soil’s surface, he couldn’t quite determine. 

Breaking free from the forest, he tottered and fell to all fours, blearily looking around. A glade, he was slow to label. He made his slow, crawling way as far from the forest edge as he could. There, he sprawled on his back, watching the dark purple of night rotated like a pinwheel overhead.

OoOoOo

I flinched as another human-sounding scream filled the air, hugging my knees tighter. Since night had fallen, the sounds of Faerie had turned more sinister. There were moans that went on like foghorns, shrieks to make every hair upon the body stand up on end, and terrified screams potent enough to cause instant bladder failure. The rare person yelled for help, but those were few and far in between - and silenced so very quickly. Whether it was the trees that got them or any of a host of vicious monsters dwelling here, I didn’t want to know. None of it came near Aleks and me, so I supposed Aleks’s claim that the Old Ones needed us was true.

My body rocked back and forth. Aleks had crashed despite the cacophony close to an hour before. I thought long and hard upon his words. I’d fought tears back so long as Aleks had been awake, not wanting to add to his burden. I knew he felt the consuming terror gnawing at the edges of my mind, and I also knew he detected my efforts to keep the grief at bay that was threatening to rip me apart.

For Aleks, I’d kept it together. Until now. 

My eyes landed upon my naked right wrist…and the sight tipped me over the edge. The first sob tore free from me without warning. Aleks might believe all was possible, Thorin’s charge to him fueling him with purpose, but I knew better. I’d never see my toymaker again. Bofur was as lost to me as if I’d died of those arrow wounds, and a part of me couldn’t help feeling the second outcome would have been preferable. Perhaps then I’d have the hope of being reunited with my love in Mandos’s Halls. If I died here, who could say where I’d wind up?

The second sob raced on the heels of the first, then a third and fourth, each ripping past my defenses, escaping beyond my control. In my mind, this image of Bofur’s gamine grin and the way he’d tease me replayed over and over, twisting the dagger of loss all the more. _This wasn’t supposed to happen,_ I screamed inside, not that the universe at large, or Eru, seemed to care. No more houseleek eyes, no more gentle touches or tugs on that lock of hair. Gone. All gone. 

Thunder rumbled overhead, my only warning before torrential rain fell in sudden sheets. As if it granted me the permission I needed, I flopped onto my side in a ball, and succumbed, letting myself cry and cry. The question, “Why?” was one my brain clamored to know, but like everyone who ever uttered the word when tragedy struck, there was no answer. There was only the reality of a clawing hurt and the knowledge of a loss never to be mended. 

_How much do you love Bofur,_ my brother had asked. Enough that his loss swallowed my whole world. How did people do it? How did widows and widowers find it in themselves to get up, get dressed, and continue breathing in and out when the person who’d made life special was gone? My chest felt as hollowed out as a jack o’ lantern, spilling messy guts everywhere. 

And so I cried. For over an hour, I cried, unable to get a handle on the tears, unable to begin to get past them. It’ll get better - wasn’t that what people said? Yet, I wasn’t sure I wanted the pain of loss to lessen, for it was my last tie to him. I refused to let my dwarf be forgotten as if he didn’t matter. He _mattered._ He would always matter. 

Slowly, my tears wound down, Bofur’s face filling my mind’s eye. _It could be worse,_ I could hear him say with his usual optimism. And while I wanted to scream that he was wrong because I hurt so much inside, I knew his sage words were, once again, correct. Aleks was here. Bilbo was here. I wasn’t in this alone, so it was high time I stopped acting like I was. The two stuck in Faerie with me deserved better. 

Sniffling, I sat up, the rain pummeling the tears from my face. “I wish you were here, Bofur,” I choked, tears threatening to once more consume me. For some reason, it was so much easier to be hopeful when he was around.

 _Okay, then._ It hurt, and it wouldn’t stop hurting anytime soon, but I had work to do. The Company – Bofur – would want the three of us to stick together and get through this. Though I didn’t see a way back to Middle Earth, I _could_ see us maybe escaping to Earth. It wouldn’t be easy, and the echnari would be after us in a hot second, but Aleks had said they and Faerie weakened without naiads. Was it possible they’d diminish enough to prevent them from locating us if we could just manage to slip away? 

No way to know, but it was a plan. Find a way to Earth. Hide like the Dickens. Stay mobile. 

I slogged to my feet, my robe plastered against my skin. _Deep breath. Atta girl._ I took unsteady, hesitant steps towards the forest that circled me a dozen or so yards out in every direction. My composure threatened to break every other step as grief would lance through me anew, turning my sight hazy. _I can do this._ Aleks had asked how much I loved Bofur. I had a new answer: enough to continue on. Enough to fight. He’d want that of me, I knew he would. 

So. I had to find out what I could bring to the table. I’d avoided listening to the trees after the demonstration I’d been given of their ferocity earlier. Would they turn upon a dryad? Trees loved us. I’d never met a one that wouldn’t literally split its trunk in two if I’d ask it. But these trees… My steps halted outside their reach. 

Unlike healthy trees, even at night, these rumbled with anger and a thirst for violence. Was it because many had once been my sisters? Dryads who had been pushed and pushed by the Old Ones until they could stand it no more? _Possible._ I could see the faintest outline of them in a handful of boles, remnants of the women they had once been. 

_Where are their brothers?_ I rubbed my naked wrist and looked around, but even in the muted, rosy light provided by the trees’ energies, I saw no sign of any White Stags. _Like the echnari would risk that,_ a part of me said. It was right – so far, it seemed the most dangerous elements of Faerie were being barred from Aleks and me. White Stags definitely qualified as dangerous. 

Scanning the trees, I sank toes into the wet soil, sprouting roots. Oaks, maples, laurels, and willows – all were present, but instead of healthy variations of green energy, theirs were roses, and ceruleans, and sapphires, and amethysts. 

_I’ll love you forever, Bofur,_ a part of me sent out into the void. I’d use his memory to grant me strength, to help me to face what I needed to face. _Eru, please grant us a reunion in Mandos’s Halls. You brought us together. Surely You wouldn’t offer such a gift only to snatch it away forever._

Bolstering my courage, I began to whisper, ready to run if the trees came after me.

It proved a good precaution. The instant my tentative whistle reached the first line of them, they exploded in fury. No real words were formed, the trees’ utterances sounded more like rabid animals foaming at the mouth with mindless rage. My low call did not reach far, but the fury of the lead bunch was transmitted through the forest better than any gossip mill. The forest shivered, wood branches creaking. Then as a unit, from every direction, trees began to inch their way towards me, roots yanking up from soil with a wet slurp and slapping back down on the muddy surface beneath them with each step. 

_Um._ I backed away. Maybe this hadn’t been the best of ideas. _Oops,_ I sent to my brother. 

Aleks startled to full wakefulness, his mind homing in on my escalating panic like a missile. _What did you do?_

I tripped over a small rock, stumbling but not falling. I turned in a circle, watching the noose close in around me. My hair and gown were plastered to me, rivulets of water pouring down arms and legs. 

_What did you **do?**_ Aghast, he stared through my eyes. 

_I spoke to them._

_You did what?_

_I spoke to them!_

A pause. _What exactly did you tell them?_ Before I could answer, _What gave you the brilliant idea to talk to them in the first place?_

 _I wanted to help, alright?_ I snapped back. _You, me, Bilbo, we’re all we have. I had to know if the trees would hear my call._

_Well, they heard all right!_

_Don’t yell at me!_ I shouted back. 

_I’m not!_ he fairly bellowed. 

Closer and closer the noose closed. Holding my breath, I inched towards the front line, aiming for a gap between a sassafras and an apple tree. If I could sneak by… But no, the extensive network of roots from an aspen colony filled the gap just beyond them. _Trapped._ The trees could not see me, but they were coordinating, determined to search me out. 

A boom of thunder, a flash of lightning. The rain’s roar seemed to accentuate the entire nightmare scenario unfolding around me. And then the trees closed ranks, blocking all sight of the world beyond them. Writhing roots were inches from my feet, and I danced around, helplessly. 

_Daph…_ Aleks groped for words.

I did the only thing I could think to do – I stretched out a shaking hand and set it against the bark of the nearest tree, a big, thorny hawthorn. It reacted in brutality, its branches smashing into me, groping for and grabbing me. Thorns bit into my skin as it hefted me off my feet. 

_Daph!_

In my desperation, I could almost hear Gwathadar’s voice. Those weeks of coaching at his side returned to me now, and using his tutelage, I hurried to examine the tree’s energy signature. No black specks marred its aura – this was as unlike Sauron’s taint as night was from day – but like Mirkwood, these trees were afflicted. I moaned as the thorns dug deeper, puncturing my torso and thighs in dozens of places. Aleks was screaming at me with all kinds of wild suggestions, his voice assuming a hollow, distant tenor. I tried to work faster, examining every inch of its miscolored energy flow. Wrong, every part of its energy was just wrong. 

A sudden realization: the task was beyond me. Faerie’s energy imbalance had affected this tree from germination onward. The damage it caused was too pervasive. I could not fix this. 

_Don’t you dare give up,_ Aleks snapped. 

Like that was an option?

The bole split and a ragged maw appeared, the sight we’d both been dreading. I had a clear eyeful of this slick gullet, and in a burst of panic, I did the only thing I could think of, remembering Thranduil doing the same. I yanked on the tree’s energy, stealing every grain of it. The acid-pink stuff gushed into me, its flavor so sickly sweet and noxious I gagged. The tree died with an aborted, splintered scream. 

I fell from its canopy, crashing down near its roots in a shower of berries and twigs. Whimpering, I crawled between its root shoots, seeking shelter beneath the hawthorn’s corpse. 

Then, the trees screamed. A shudder moved through their mass, and they bolted as fast as a tree could from me. 

Aleks yelled in triumph. _Woot! Take that!_

But I knew better. It wasn’t me sending the trees into flight. They’d not been frightened by me, they’d been infuriated by my actions. No, something else intervened. It took a minute for me to locate what it might be, but I spotted balls of fire flying through the air and slamming into boles in a shower of sparks. Whatever this was, it did not intend to kill them, I didn’t think, for it never attacked the same tree twice. It drove them, herding them back to their original positions. 

_There,_ I said, showing Aleks the tiny silhouette in the shadows of the reforming glade. 

_What is it?_ my twin asked.

Before I could answer, it popped out of sight, reappearing a split-second later inches from my nose. I recoiled back with a shriek, heart beating like a sugared-up toddler discovering the joy of bongo drums. “Foolisssh dryad,” it said. Standing all of a foot high, the wizened-looking, purple creature was one I instantly labeled: _Imp._

_Imp?_ Aleks stared through my eyes, too. _Imp,_ he agreed.

“Lessson learned, yesss?” it asked. 

I nodded dumbly. 

“No need to ssspeak to Massster of thisss,” it said in this sly voice. 

_Master?_

Aleks instantly provided, _Old One. If I had to bet, I’d say this imp was assigned to watch out for you._

Bet he was looking at a heap of trouble if the Old One realized how close I’d come to being eaten or pulled to pieces. 

_No doubt about it,_ Aleks said, grim. 

“N-no,” I said, deciding how I wanted to deal with this. One, there was no way I was whining to an echnari, and two, we’d need allies. We couldn’t trust anyone since the echnari could rearrange anyone else’s mind at will, but engendering some good will couldn’t hurt. “No real damage done.”

 _No real damage?_ Aleks said in disbelief. _You are bleeding all over, Daph. You could audition for the roll of_ Carrie _and not need any makeup!_

The imp nodded, its countenance brightening perceptibly. “No ssspeaking to trees, yes?”

I grimace as I readjusted my seat, taking pressure off of my hip where a stick had been digging into it. “Trust me. I won’t be repeating that.”

The imp bobbed his head, then _poof!_ He was gone.

OoOoOo

Daph finally nodded off at sunrise, safely hidden beneath the husk of the tree she’d slain. On one hand, both felt a lot safer knowing a fire-tossing imp roamed about, but on the other, a fire-tossing, _invisible_ imp was roaming about. Escaping with such a creature underfoot was going to be a challenge.

 _Take an invisible person to deal with an invisible person?_ Aleks was still unclear on what the Ring allowed Bilbo to do. He’d have to ask him next time he saw him. 

_In the meantime,_ he thought, _I have work to do._ No one had yet arrived with food for them or any kind of supplies, and Aleks wasn’t sure he’d accept them if the provisions suddenly appeared. _I’ll need to ask Daph for a list of what plants are safe to eat._ He also needed to try and befriend some animals. After what happened to his twin, he was leery, but the benefits outweighed the costs. _And if there’s an imp out here protecting me, the sooner I know about it the better._

He rose to his feet, switching to satyr and stretching the kinks from his spine. With a swift survey of his surroundings, he trotted off. First order of business: find a base of operations. 

He refused to call it a home.

OoOoOo

Bilbo tiptoed behind potted plants, cross with himself. He had no way to reckon how long he’d been comatose upon the forest floor due to those deceptive mushrooms, but it wasn’t time he could spare. Aleks was counting on him to find Daphne, and he was determined to figure a way to smuggle his friends out of Faerie. He could do neither lollygagging about like a tween.

With Ring on finger and arms tight to his sides, he crept onward. The world around him was gray and barren of color due to the One Ring’s presence, but he was growing acclimated to the limitation. It was a small price to pay to remain invisible to the echnari - a major consideration, given his current task: trailing behind the echnari who had spoken with Aleks. Ovid, as he’d learned the Old One was called, currently held the position of the dominant echnari, though like the others, his power was dwindling.

The echnari was quite wroth about the matter, too. When he believed himself alone, he threw such a fit as to outdo the most red-faced, screaming child. The suddenness of the echnari’s loss of control was frightening, if he did say so himself. It was more like watching an overindulged child than an ancient being in possession of too much power.

He followed Ovid down a winged staircase that ventured below ground. Haunt Ovid as he had this day, he’d yet to find any type of map to direct him to Quai and Daphne. When the naiads had been brought through the rift, the two most powerful had claimed them. That Muriste had bristled in insult had not changed a thing - her trip to Middle Earth had cost her in power. How, Bilbo had not yet determined, but she’d fallen in ranks, her place assumed by Quai, and his by Arisse, and on down the line. Muriste fell in seventh place now, and though Ovid and Quai frightened him, he was grateful they had claimed Aleks and Daphne. Muriste had been vocal in her displeasure, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she would seek revenge upon the naiads if given the chance. 

At the base of the stairs, he found only a stately hallway that extended out some thirty yards in one direction. Stones the size of Dwalin’s fist hung from either side of the ceiling, illuminating the passageway with spheres of crimson. Like the rest of the tower, much was constructed of glossy obsidian, and when combined with those peculiar stones, he did not much like the look of the place.

His steps carried him down the hall’s length until he reached a diminutive rotunda. The domed room could be no more than ten feet in diameter with a round gap in the floor in the very center that he judged about a foot wide. It was what Bilbo saw suspended over the aperture, however, that held his attention, and Ovid’s. A crystal hung there by no means Bilbo could see. With the Ring on his finger, he could not ascertain its color, but the stone smoldered as if lit deep inside. Bilbo crept closer, watching with rising bafflement as glowing thimbles of light flew up out of that hole in the floor and into the crystal, melting into it. The thimbles emerged and flew into the crystal in a steady stream, the rate never slowing or accelerating, putting Bilbo to mind of blood dripping on the floor, only this, he thought, was upwards. 

He regretted the blood metaphor at once, for something about this sight unsettled him. What could this crystal be? What were the lights?

As he pondered and watched, the bright spots continued to fly up into the crystal. Ovid stepped onto a low platform, bringing him closer to the crystal’s surface. The echnari’s hand stretched out and smoothed against the stone. 

Bilbo tapped his bottom lip as he witnessed large amounts of light leave the crystal and flow into the echnari’s hand. “Failing,” Ovid murmured. “Like all else.” A cruel smile, his hand caressed the sharp-edged stone. “Still, I enjoy this sweet lullaby, my Sleepers,” he said, stepping down with a last lingering touch. “We’ll do this again on the morrow.”

Bilbo hunched down low, eyes averted as the echnari passed him by. Only when the echnari had climbed the stairs to the tower floors above did he exhale. With his back to the wall, he sat upon the floor. 

Truly he wished Gandalf were here. What had just happened? What was that light? Glancing at the glowing shard, he watched as the smaller lights continued on their upward journey. He suspected the crystal stored those lights, but what were they? What was their significance? 

_This is getting nothing done._ He stood and gingerly made his way closer to the crystal, but then he heard a voice whisper into his ear, _“Who?”_ Terrified Ovid had detected him, he did as any respectful hobbit would have done and made haste from the vicinity. He hunted out as good hiding space as one could find in the floors above and stayed there until his heart calmed from its frantic beating. As time stretched on with no furor, he dared to hope he’d been mistaken. But then, what had that voice been? He was no youngster to be ruled by flights of fancy, no indeed. Bilbo thought on this for a considerable time, opting to remain out of sight a bit longer. 

The next morning, he roused from the cupboard and endeavored once again to ferret out echnari secrets, hoping along the way to find a clue about where to find Daphne. With each day, his promise to Aleks grew all the more threatened, for if he could not locate their dryad, he could not protect her. 

As he wandered up the colossal tower’s winding stairs, a voice echoed down the stairwell. Muriste, he identified. “That will not work,” she hissed. 

Bilbo picked up the pace. If the echnari were meeting, perhaps he would learn something of importance. He halted at the fourth floor and padded across the slick landing to the room on the north side. 

“Silence,” another male commanded. “You have no say.”

Bilbo peeked around the doorframe and then sidled inside the room, ducking behind potted, hobbit-sized fronds. He grimaced as he brushed against one, eyeing the Old Ones for sign of discovery, but they appeared to be engrossed in their disagreement. None noticed one plant’s sudden sway.

His grip upon Sting tightened. 

_“I_ have no say? You wouldn’t even have these naiads if not for me,” Muriste proclaimed in a frosty voice. 

“We would not have lost them if not for your incompetence, either,” Ovid responded, his gaze leaving the open veranda and returning to the room’s occupants. 

“The two naiads are not enough,” another female interjected. This one was smaller than most with her hair plaited into two long braids that fell over her shoulders to her knees. 

“On that, there is no question,” another male said. “A number of us have lost our lands already to Faerie’s contracting size.”

“We must come to agreement,” Muriste insisted. “We cannot afford the time lost by producing half-breed children that prove to be powerless. We must combine the naiad bloodlines with those of compatible traits.”

“The sirens are cousins to the naiads,” a white-haired, white-eyed male said. Bilbo felt a burst of hope, for here at last was the echnari who had Daphne. Quai, his name was. “We know such unions will be fertile.”

“Little use are children locked within the sea,” she of the plaited hair countered with disdain.

“Little use are children _sterile_ because of an unwise pairing,” Quai drawled. 

The woman spat like a cat.

“Calmly,” Ovid said, the threat from him silencing the others for a long stretch. 

“I cannot afford calm,” the woman at last spoke with reserve. She paled as Ovid’s glowing black eyes turned to her. “My…lands…”

“Yes, Faerie is fading,” Ovid agreed with a horrible kind of gentleness. “Lands are dwindling until they are no longer accessible.” Ovid’s attention moved on. “Quai, bring the female naiad here. Perhaps if the twins are in closer proximity, their effect will be greater.”

Bilbo’s interest sharpened. His task would be simpler if Daphne was brought to him. 

Quai frowned, a minute downturn of thin lips. Those blank white eyes slid towards Ovid. “No, I do not believe I shall.”

Ovid’s body assumed a stillness unnatural to hobbits or dwarves. “What did you say?”

“I said no. Oh, I am certain the naiads’ effect will be enhanced through proximity,” Quai continued in a silky voice. “But that is not all of your intent. Faerie begins to wither. By placing both naiads here, you ensure your own survival. Is that not so?”

Ovid’s silence was like a shout. 

A low rumble filtered through the other echnari. “If this is true, the naiads must be shared.” “You cannot hoard them.” “You will not dispose of _me_ as you did the Sleepers. I demand equal use of the wretched creatures.” More and more objections filled the air, the tones behind them growing in anger as Ovid did not answer their demands.

Bilbo frowned. He’d seen and heard enough to know these echnari were at heart selfish and vain creatures. If the situation was as presented here, they would turn upon one another like famished dogs with one bone. And the bone, disturbingly enough, would be none other than Aleks and Daphne. If they warred as many threatened, it might spare the naiads from attempts to breed them like animals, but accidents happened. Either could be wounded, perhaps even killed if one of these Old Ones decided it better that none should have them if he or she could not. 

When Quai said his piece and stormed out, Bilbo hurried after him.

OoOoOo

Aleks grunted and sagged to the ground, dripping sweat. He sneered at the way his black robe plastered to his body. The thing repelled dirt and stains like nobody’s business, but still. A robe? Dude. At some point, he’d have to start hunting animals with the goal of skinning them for leather. He refused to spend months in this prissy, bedroom attire.

Aleks’s eyes traveled to the hollowed-out durian shell he’d repurposed as a bowl where nuts, fruits, and other plant material were stored. He supposed he should eat, but he hadn’t been very hungry. Since that first day, his appetite had waned steadily. An effect from balancing Faerie’s energies? He’d noticed a…buzz…or sorts, a tingle that never faded so long as he was in contact with the ground. It wasn’t painful, but it was beginning to irritate his satyr side, making it more temperamental and agitated. 

_What do you think?_ his sister said, changing subjects.

Aleks peeked at her progress. What did he think? He thought they were going to make it. 

Daph acted like they had no hope, but each day, his determination grew. To be honest, he’d expected to be bringing broken pieces of his sister back with him to Middle Earth in the hopes Bofur could mend what Faerie was sure to destroy, but in this, he’d underestimated her. Instead of crumbling under the load of fear he could feel haunting her, she was gritting her teeth and dealing with each new development with resolve. No matter how ugly, she was meeting it head-on, and that included the creatures he’d encountered that first night. He’d intentionally kept it from her, hoping she’d be spared that particular nastiness, but on their second night, one of the little monsters had shown up at the perimeter of her territory, crying in the guise of a human child. A _young_ human child. 

_She got through it,_ he reminded himself very, very privately. It had pushed every button she had, but she’d trusted him above what she saw. The Old Ones could not mess with their heads, but some few of Faerie’s worst nightmares could take altered forms to lure victims. This one had been particularly chilling. Who wouldn’t rush in to try and save a battered-looking kid?

 _Test the edges,_ he urged. With him as absent instructor, she had concentrated this day on sharpening some of the humanoid shin bones littering the forest floor into daggers. He couldn’t train her in combat, but at least she had them if that barrier keeping the bad stuff at bay failed. 

One by one, she tested them against her thumb, giving him a good view of her left arm and the slit-shaped track marks marching up its length from that hawthorn. She’d been treating them, so he held his peace, but that didn’t mean he liked it. It was his job to protect her, but little he could do that when she was…wherever she was…and he was in this valley.

_That third one is the best. Keep it to defend yourself._

He felt her agreement as she set it aside. _We need staffs,_ she said. She flashed him a picture of them using one to test the ground for lurking roots or other plants hunting for meat as they walked. 

Aleks had been about to dismiss the idea, but he reconsidered. _Staffs,_ he agreed. _Next up on the agenda._ He turned to his own growing collection of weapons. He’d found an edge of stone that worked well as a scraper, and he had a pair of bone-daggers, too. _Any thoughts about helping us to get out of here?_ he asked her.

 _Maybe,_ she said. _Let me experiment with an idea a bit more. I don’t want to suggest anything if it turns out I’m wrong._

Fair enough. They each turned to their own projects, the link not vanishing but fading to the background. And both tried not to react to the Faerie-sounds that threatened to disturb their equanimity. By Durin, he hated this place. He rubbed his neck. _I’ll get us home, Thorin. Somehow._

Closing his eyes, Aleks sought the tenuous bonds he’d formed with the few animals receptive to his call. Gaining their attention had taken hours. Many remembered satyrs, and some had lamented their loss, but by and large, the animals cared for nothing more than survival. And in Faerie, survival equaled trusting no one. Coaxing them near had been beyond taxing. 

He missed the fox’s simple devotion. 

_Still better than the trees,_ Daph said. 

Aleks snorted. She had a point. 

Two days of work, and he’d befriended – if one could call it such – a weasel with a particularly robust vicious streak, a family of raccoons willing to share information for the kernels and nuts he harvested with Daph’s guidance, and – here he was proud – a real, live cerberus. (He’d no idea there was a real one, much less a race of them.) Talk about the jackpot. The thing was snarly and reminded him of an uber stand-offish Gloin, but so far as protection went, it was hard to beat a three headed, giant dog. The fact that the dog had a beef against the echnari only made it better.

Too bad he’d only found this one, though. Aleks sighed. To his sister: _We could use a whole pack of cerberuses._ Or was it cerberi? He snorted. Who cared? 

She read his thought and agreed. _A pack of them would be a boon, no doubt about it._ Then tentatively, _Anything new on your end?_

He hated to disappoint her, for he knew that though she was coping better than he’d imagined, beneath it all, she was still scared out of her mind. Worse, he hadn’t even told her about the Old One’s promise of mates yet. He’d been putting it off, hoping to share only when Bilbo was in position to protect her. Wrong of him? Maybe. _Nothing,_ he told her. And continued to hold his silence.

OoOoOo

Aleks slept.

Okay, so it was a tad underhanded to wait until he couldn’t object, but I needed to try this. I couldn’t let him talk me out of it, because it was the only way I could think of that would allow me to contribute in a real way. 

I left my camp but remained in the confines of the round glade, my sharpest bone-knife in one hand. Choosing a spot at random, I squatted on my heels. _Deep breath._ The idea had been percolating since my brush with the trees. Fixing them was beyond me. Like I’d told Aleks, they’d been twisted by Faerie’s messed up energies since germination. 

But…naiads brought balance to that energy, or so we’d been led to believe. The idea: to grow something from seed to maturity using my energy, not Faerie’s. It was risky, and I knew it. If anything went wrong, I’d better hope that imp was nearby and faster on the draw than the last time I’d kicked the hornet’s nest. 

_Quit stalling, Daphne,_ I scolded myself. Gwathadar had taught me, helped me to use my energies in ways I hadn’t imagined before. I’d gone against Sauron, for pity’s sake! That had to count for something. 

I set my dagger close to my side and dug a small hole into the moist earth. Then, I took a berry from the hawthorn I’d killed and dropped it into the hole, patting the dirt back into place over it. I had a seed. I had earth, and the ground was still damp from the heavy rain two nights before. “Showtime,” I whispered.

Cupping both hands over the site, I closed my eyes, allowing those small seeds of potential to appear in my mind’s eye. The seeds slumbered as all seeds did, only the barest of glows about them. Two had already adopted a blush to their muted energy, and those I bypassed immediately. Of the ones remaining, I let instinct guide me. _There,_ some part of me said. _That one._

I assumed full dryad form, sinking my own roots into the ground. The buzz of Faerie energy intensified. “I really hope this works, Bofur,” I breathed. A scream from a distance away almost make me lose control as fear skittered down my spine. Picturing my toymaker’s face, I took a deep breath. Before doubts could set in, I willed my own green energies into that seed, urging it to grow. Its glow increased, pulsing in response until the kernel cracked and a filament of green eased out between the folds of its casing. 

_So far, so good._

A drowsy male voice: _Daph, what are you up to?_

I swallowed a nervous giggle. _Playing? Go back to sleep, Aleks._

His mind sharpened. _Playing?_ Surprise, worry. Then a hint of anger, _You better tell me you picked something small to experiment with. A strawberry bush. A grape vine. Something benign._

Actually, that probably would have been a good idea, but… Yeah, too late now. 

The fragile seedling broke through the surface between my hands, shooting upward. I fed it still more, unwilling to risk using any other energy source for fear of destroying this experiment. My head grew dizzy, but onward I pushed and shoved, feeding it all I dared. The shoot thickened, pushing my palms farther apart as its tip soared ever higher into the air. In less than half a minute, my little sprout was anything but little. 

_What is it?_ Aleks demanded. 

Now, I did giggle. _A hawthorn._

_A hawthorn? Are you **mad?**_

_No, I’m being ambitious. Now hush._ Buds formed, studding the tree’s developing bole and quickly inching out. In less than a minute, adult-sized branches unfurled in a chorus of leaves. 

_Green,_ I showed my twin. _The energy is green._

Aleks crowed, and I laughed. Then Aleks warned, _Daph, move._

I darted out of the way as the trunk of this new organism finished developing, its root base expanding and churning the ground where I’d been seated. I worried about that, worried that if it fed upon Faerie’s energies it might begin to twist as its fellows. 

_What would you do, Gwathadar?_ I leaned in closer, examining the way the tree struggled to utilize that wrong energy, and inspiration struck, guided by a big surge of instinct. Stretching out invisible fingers, I tweaked its inflow and adjusted the tree’s receptors, building a…filter, I supposed. I was no botanist to put it into technical terms, but I knew success when I saw it. The energy corrected like a gear locking into place. 

I had a healthy, _normal_ hawthorn tree. Well, a normal hawthorn tree for Faerie, anyway.

Then a woody hand grabbed me. I screamed my head off – hey, the last one _had_ tried to eat me – but the new tree enfolded me with care close to its trunk. It allowed its arsenal of thorns to rearrange themselves to shield me from any who might challenge it. 

_Dude,_ Aleks breathed. _Daph…that was impressive._

A glimmer of pride touched me. I’d done it. More, it meant I could help the guys. 

_I felt that,_ Aleks growled. _If you think you need to prove to me—_

I interrupted him. _No, Alek. To prove to me._

My brother looked long and hard down the link at me. _Alright._

_Alright?_

_I get it._ He changed the subject. Scratched his head. _What do you plan to do with an army of trees?_


	56. Werewolves, Gorgons, and Hobbits... Oh My!

### Chapter 55

“Yes, yes, Toby. I am certain. None can see us,” Radagast said, surveying this new land with care. “Much has been tampered with,” he muttered to himself. “This may be more difficult than I feared.”

He scampered away from the rift as it closed in his wake. He had much to learn, much to set in place and not much time in which to see both done. Such windows between these worlds, he’d been informed, lasted only six and a half hours and could only be created every six and a half days. He could not afford to remain in Faerie a full week – there was too much chance he’d be discovered. What the hobbit could do with ease due to the Ring took all of the wizard’s reserves. Six hours of such effort to conceal himself would leave him exhausted by the time he and Toby ventured home. 

Radagast’s hand gripped his staff as he walked beneath oddly-colored boughs, listening to the wildlife. His brows lowered as he observed the state of Faerie. He’d followed the twins through the rift a week before, but at that time, his mission had been simple: avoid detection and ensure the naiads survived. He’d watched the echnari working feverishly, but despite the echnari’s combined, impressive power, the satyr would have passed. The boy had endured entirely too much pain. His wan spirit had attempted to slip away from the burnt husk of his body twice, and if not for Radagast’s presence and the aid provided through him by his Lady, Aleks would have entered the Halls of Mandos. 

The effort had been costly to himself and Lady Yavanna both, but they’d anticipated it. As soon as Master Hunt had been stabilized, he’d retreated through the rift undetected. It had been a close call - he’d barely returned before the brief window allowing such travel expired. The risk had been necessary, for Yavanna could not venture into these lands herself and the naiad line could not die out. Such was Eru’s charge to Yavanna, and her charge to him. 

_Much to be done,_ he thought. _And only six hours in which to see it completed. Now where,_ he wondered, _might our Master Baggins be found?_

OoOoOo

Hours later, the Brown Wizard chewed upon all the hobbit had conveyed to him. Daphne not yet located. _Breeding_ plans, of all things. The travesty fired his temper until smoke curled out of his ears. The gall of these echnari, attempting to breed intelligent beings like cattle. Well, he’d made short work of that nonsense, ensuring it would never come to pass.

 _Be safe, Master Baggins,_ he thought. The hobbit would carry a heavy burden, for there was much he had asked of him in the week to come. Why, it would be the sixth of December before Radagast could return, and he knew they had no time to spare. With a last look around at the suffering creatures of Faerie, he stepped through the rift and returned to Middle Earth.

OoOoOo

Bilbo watched the wizard vanish, brow pursed. He’d not been happy with Radagast’s admonition to keep the wizard’s presence a secret from Daphne and Aleks, but he did understand it. The echnari could not catch so much of a glimmer of what was afoot.

With a shake of the head, he hustled away. He had six and a half days before Radagast’s return and a veritable grocery list of things he must complete in the meantime. He’d make each hour count.

OoOoOo

Aleks handed a fat hare over to the weasel in payment, thanking the critter as it accepted his offering and trooped away with the bigger hare’s corpse dragging across the ground in his wake.

 _No Bilbo,_ he informed his sister. He hadn’t seen hair nor hide of the hobbit in days, and Daphne hadn’t seen any indication their friend had located her. Worry flared between them. 

_Surly find anything?_ Daphne asked him. 

“Surly”, the weasel, had found squat of use. He ticked off his findings upon his fingers. _He found his way into Lord Ovid’s pantry,_ he said in a dry voice, _the armory, and some room where a bunch of people are sleeping. Not so helpful._

_Did he find where the human prisoners are being held?_

Aleks’s belly churned. He’d hoped she wouldn't ask about that. Surly had found the humans all right – what was left of them. Oh, the youngest kids were still alive and nothing more than scared, but the rest… 

_That bad?_ A small, nervous voice. 

Aleks frowned. He’d noticed that change in her. That pressure from Faerie’s energy definitely had her on edge. When had he last felt her sleep? _Let me worry about the humans,_ he said. _You can’t do anything from where you are._

_We need more trees,_ she said. He could feel the way her mind was turning, planning what she might do to allow humans set loose in Faerie’s wilds some sort of safety. 

_You sure you’re up to that?_

Uncertainty. She’d managed to grow four additional sentinels in the last day: another hawthorn, a birch, a pine, and a walnut tree. Both of them had wondered what using Faerie’s energy would do to the two of them. In theory, as a balancing presence, they’d be okay, but both had been leery of any attempt to wield it in extravagant amounts. 

_Don’t do it yet,_ he decided. Small stages, that was the ticket. If they suffered no obvious effects in a few days, then they could do more, but it seemed rash to start trying to use all the energy stuffing inside of them willy-nilly.

Especially if it twisted them as it had Faerie’s trees.

Another day passed. Then another. Aleks continued to scout what he could using his limited resources, as well as attempting to add to his arsenal of animal friends. He needed a bird – _any_ bird would work. Didn’t matter how small it was, Aleks just wanted to find his sister himself.

In case the hobbit was gone. 

The possibility grew every hour. _Bilbo, dude, we shouldn’t have let you do this._

OoOoOo

_Tell me that again._

My brother was a dead man. A whole week, we’d been working as a team, and now he tells me he hid something so monumentally huge as this? My fingers clamped down into the dead leaves beneath me, my intention to dig up the tubers I’d sensed forgotten. 

Aleks radiated guilt, but I didn’t back down. 

_Aleks,_ I warned.

_They intend to breed us,_ he said for the second time. _Today._

Today. I rose to my feet, collected my staff – a misshapen thing Bofur would likely have a thing or two to say about – and my best dagger, my movements swift and careful. I loped back through the woods on light feet, something I’d grown better at in the last six days. Carnivorous plants would do that to you. 

The echnari intended to send a stranger to impregnate me _today._ Rage built and built, compounded by Aleks’s lack of warning before now and the dwindling amount of sleep I’d been getting. What if the echnari made a game of it? I could have a dozen creeps after me for no other reason than to save their own skin. No one could tell me the echnari were above that. I heard the sounds of their depravity every hour of every day in the anguish of their victims. 

_You listen to me, and you listen good, Twin,_ I growled. _You hide stuff like this from me again, and I’ll find a way to kick your butt. I can’t believe you._

A quiet, _I was hoping we’d be out of here by now,_ was his response.

In a _week?_ Did he think we were heroes from a Marvel comic? He was lucky he was out of range of my new staff, that was all I wanted to say. 

Breaking free from the hostile tree lines, I rushed into my glade and towards my five healthy sentinels, whistling to them that danger might be coming. All rustled with increased alertness. At my camp, I scooped up all of my daggers and situated myself at the base of the first hawthorn, back to its trunk. 

_Daph?_ A tentative query.

My hand fisted upon my knee. _What?_

A pause. Sorrow, guilt. _Keep safe._

I exhaled, the back of my head resting upon the tree’s bole. Thoughts raced to what I could expect. It wasn’t like the echnari would sic some centaurs or minotaurs on us – one, we wouldn’t survive such an encounter and two, I didn’t think any children could come of such unions. So what would the echnari send? Sirens, maybe? They were kissing cousins to naiads, probably why we loved music so much. We might not obsess over it as a siren did, but that affinity was there. Maybe a sprite or brownie?

The latter two, we had no easy defense against. Brownies were better than hobbits at sneaking about, and sprites could wield water as a weapon, yanking it from a person’s body or shoving it through the skin, into the lungs and drowning a person where he stood. (Not that I expected us to face that bit of joy.) Sirens, however… _Aleks, plug your ears._ Sirens didn’t just love music, they could mesmerize with it. One nice croon, and they could have a person eating from their hands like a lapdog. 

I grabbed my blade and hacked strips of fabric from the bottom hem to use in lieu of earplugs. Once that was done, I began to whip up a real army of trees. If I was going down, the person or persons attempting it were going to pay a high price.

OoOoOo

Aleks spent the day pacing in full satyr mode, fingers curled into claws and mind clouded by a red haze of rage. No Bilbo. Aleks knew his twin was alert and mad enough to defend herself, but he howled inside. It was a satyr’s place to defend the dryad, yet here he was, stuck with no clue how to reach her. The satyr side of him was incandescent with outrage that he couldn’t do what instinct demanded.

The sun rose. 

Aleks set knife to wood, creating wood shaves for no reason but his need to cut into something. Each minute stretched out like hours. When destroying wood no longer sufficed, he set his tool aside and stomped around on his hooves. Daph paced, too, once she had another dozen or so trees at her beck and call. The nervous fury ping-ponged between them. Neither said much, but the link joining them remained wide open.

The sun reached its zenith. 

The sun set. Both eyed the dark landscape around them with suspicion. Daph allowed her first hawthorn to draw her into its boughs while the other trees took up position around it. 

Both remained awake all night. 

No one came.

OoOoOo

I shook out my robes, dumping a new load of pinecones, berries and whatnot on the ground. Turning, I almost shrieked to find Marcus standing beside me, his lips white and his back muscles tight enough to use as a trampoline. The caution that had driven Aleks and me to fight off sleep for two days straight prodded me away from the werewolf, my eyes narrowed.

At my whistle, the trees rustled, ready to react at a moment’s notice.

“I should kill you.” His first words since acting so worried about me in Middle Earth. It was so abrupt and shocking, I didn’t at first understand. “I let compassion rule me back in your Erebor.” Wolf eyes turned my way, and the rage there sent prickles of alarm zinging through me. I didn’t back away – I knew better than to try – but my hand tightened around my dagger. “If there is one thing Faerie has taught me,” he growled, “its that compassion is a luxury. In this world, it is every man for himself. Had you died, _they_ would be fading.” 

_Aleks?_ I couldn’t help it, I retreated one step. 

_Daph? What’s wr-_ As he merged with me, no explanation was needed. My twin began to swear, but edited himself, as aware as I of the danger in that. Faerie was not a place for idle words. 

Marcus snorted, his gaze upon my dagger. “Think that will stop me, maple-girl?” The disdain was back, accompanied by a hardness of heart I’d never heard from him before. 

I licked my lips. “Why am I still alive?” Call the trees or not? Bravado aside, I didn’t want my first victim to be Marcus. I kept my link to them open, readying myself for what I might have to do.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” he said, prowling forward until his bigger frame blocked out the blue sun. Before I retreated, his hand lashed out and grabbed my neck, not strangling, but caging. “I will do anything to protect my Pack.”

I believed him. 

“You live for one reason. I’ve smelled a creature not from Earth or Faerie. He hides from sight, but he’s here.” _Bilbo?_ Aleks and I clanged together. “He can hide from them. So I spare you. For now. I want to speak with him.” 

A sword materialized over my shoulder, the point at Marcus’s throat. “If you wish my assistance, you will release her.”

“So you finally reveal yourself.”

“Perhaps I’ve been too polite. Release her. I won’t ask again.” Bilbo stepped closer, Sting held steady and the hobbit’s gaze unwavering. 

Marcus’s throat vibrated with a low growl. “You think your puny pocketknife is going to hurt me?”

It was Sting, I thought. Like Orcrist and Glamdring, it had been forged by the elves of Gondolin. Marcus and the dwarves might scoff at it, but I wasn’t so sure it wasn’t powerful in its own right. 

_I’ll kill him,_ Aleks fumed. I could sense him stomping around, snorting in full satyr-fury. _If Marcus comes in reach, he’s dead, you hear me?_

Hard to ignore when it was shouted in your own head. 

“Remove your hand from her neck,” Bilbo said in a voice suddenly filled with threat. 

Marcus’s head fell back, and he laughed. His hand did drop, however, and Bilbo quickly planted himself between us, Sting’s length shielding us both. Marcus’s laughter turned bitter and helpless. “I should kill you,” he said, his gaze once again upon me. Bilbo stiffened. “Once chance, that’s all you get,” Marcus said. To Bilbo, “You find a way to kill these echnari, and I’ll let them live. I know what you wear, hobbit.” Both Aleks and I inhaled sharply. Marcus’s finger pointed at Bilbo. “You use it to change things, or I’ll rip it from you and do it myself after I’ve disposed of both naiads. Got it?”

What, I asked myself, had happened to Marcus? This wasn’t the guy I knew, not even close. 

_Looks like Faerie brought out the worst in him,_ Aleks said in a low, rumbling voice. _Don’t you dare make excuses, Daph. Thorin would tell you trials like this show the true character. A person of honor will die before descending to this level. We both know Marcus was never that._

Did that make Marcus an all-round bad guy? I suspected I’d be tempted into a lot of badness if someone put a knife to Aleks or Bofur’s neck. Marcus wasn’t some thug willing to kill over a pack of gum. He was being driven, and werewolves always responded to that kind of thing with violence. 

“You can most certainly try,” Bilbo said, his jaw tight. “My purpose is to see my companions safe, but if I can do anything to help the other people here, I will do so. Not because you threaten, but because it is the right thing to do.”

Marcus’s lip curled. “You keep your vaunted morals. I’ll be the one to walk away with most of me and mine alive.”

“Marcus, what happened?” I dared to ask. 

_It doesn’t matter,_ Aleks fumed. 

_It might,_ I objected. 

_He wrapped his hands around your neck,_ Aleks snapped. _He threatened to kill us._

A tremor shook down Marcus’s spine. “Besides using us as fodder in their internal wars, you mean?” he said at last. Wolf eyes burned into mine. “They use us. For sport. As _pets,”_ he spat. “Think illegal dog fights back home, then throw in monsters found only in Faerie. I’ve lost two wolves already. One to the arachne and one to a lamia.”

As Bofur would have said, _Mahal._ Even Aleks’s rage cooled by a few degrees.

“They abandoned Carlos,” he said. Before I could ask, he added, “In Middle Earth. Left him there, torn and bloody by what that Muriste did to him.” He raised a fist between us. “He is _my_ wolf. And I can do nothing to protect him.”

My fingers twined into the fabric of my robe. “He’ll be okay. So long as its the elves or dwarves who find him, he’ll be alright.”

Marcus shook his head in dismissal. “Follow me,” he said. 

I eyed my trees and weighed my chances. “Where?” I slowly collected my nuts and seeds, buying time. 

Marcus turned around, a false smile on his lips. “Lord Ovid has Aleks. He wants you, too. Right now, Lord Quai’s lands – _these_ lands – are being invaded by Ovid’s legions. He has a gorgon.”

I blanched, hands frozen where they hovered over my loot. “Which one?”

_What do you mean? There’s more than one?_ Aleks demanded. 

_There were three,_ I told him.

“What? What is a gorgon?” Bilbo asked, his gaze flying between us. 

“Euryale,” Marcus informed me.

I juggled what I could in my right hand while grabbing Bilbo’s wrist with my left, dragging him after me. “We’ll be leaving now,” I told the hobbit. _Be safe,_ I whistled to my trees. 

_Who is Euryale?_

I mentally flapped hands at Aleks. Like we had time for a lesson now. “I suppose that means the barrier is down.”

Marcus’s grunt sounded like agreement. His attention turned to the hobbit, “You _are_ Bilbo, aren’t you?” 

Bilbo cleared his throat and placed me opposite him to Marcus. “Perhaps you should have ascertained that before making your threats,” the hobbit said. “Yes. Bilbo Baggins at your service.” 

Marcus growled in the back of his throat. “Remember my words. For the record, I don’t make _threats._ I promise, little hobbit. Don’t forget it.” 

“Believe me, I won’t be.” Bilbo’s face was grim as he next directed to me, “What or who is Euryale?” 

The sounds of battle began to come from far away to the south. I picked up the pace. “The gorgons were three sisters,” I hurried to explain to hobbit and brother concurrently. “Cursed. I don’t remember by whom. Snakes for hair. Seriously ugly. The most famous, Medusa, could turn men to stone with one look of her face.”

“Stone,” Bilbo repeated as if he didn’t buy it.

“Stone,” I reiterated. “If you come across a section of Faerie full of stone statues, don’t stick around. Euryale, if I remember correctly, can kill men with a scream.”

“Just men?” Bilbo asked.

“Males,” I corrected, shoving the strips of cloth I’d made at him. “Put these in your ears.”

OoOoOo

Bilbo slipped away once he was certain Daphne was ensconced in Ovid’s tower with guards other than werewolves to protect her. If the echnari war had reached such a feverish pitch, now might be the perfect time to sneak into Quai’s squat fortress in search of any information that might reveal some weakness in the echnari not requiring his friends’ deaths to capitalize upon. 


	57. The Sleepers

### Chapter 56

A week had passed.

Radagast tapped fingers upon the crown of his staff, biding his time as he waited for the hobbit’s arrival. “Yes, it is quite beautiful here, Toby. Different, but quite beautiful.”

The ferret squeaked a few times. 

A tree crawled by on its roots, a maple. His brows winged upwards upon noting its cleanness. Unlike the others surrounding them, this one was benign. _Green-child, you have been busy._ He smirked. Good. Proof the naiads flourished despite their trying environs. 

Radagast inhaled, enjoying the unusual perfume in the air. “I do believe I shall like it here.”

“You do not mean to stay?”

He startled, hand to his chest, and frowned down at the hobbit. “Goodness me. Scaring an old man so?”

The hobbit looked unconvinced. 

Radagast cackled. “Very good, Master Baggins, very good.” He turned, looking at the night-darkened forests around him. “I shall have business here for a time,” he told the hobbit. “Setting things to rights once the echnari have been dealt with. Not to worry, you will be returned home.”

Bilbo frowned at him. “Yet I am not allowed to tell the Company where I’ve been.”

“Or what you have been up to, no,” Radagast said. He leveled the smaller man with a somber look. “The Nazgûl are nothing to play about, Master Baggins. Though they often wear robes and armor to interact with the outside world, they can choose to wander about without either. Invisible, much as yourself when you don the Ring. It limits them. They cannot harm when so unarmed except with fear.” He leaned down. “But they can listen to conversations, read correspondence.”

The hobbit’s eyes widened. “Spying?”

“Yes, exactly that, Master Baggins,” Radagast said with satisfaction. “One wrong word or indiscretion, and they would know the naiads were returned to Middle Earth.”

_“If_ we succeed,” the hobbit said with compressed lips as he bobbed on his feet. “The dwarves and elves will grieve,” Bilbo accused with a short shake of the head. “I am not certain I wish to be party to that.”

Radagast thumped his staff a time or two on the ground. The hobbit did have a point. “Yes, I’m afraid that is exactly what must happen. _They_ will be watching. Not yet, not with the distance they must travel to reach the Elvenking’s lands and Erebor, but soon.”

Bilbo’s thumbs hitched in his vest pockets. “I can see the need for secrecy, but I don’t like it. No, I don’t like it at all. If you explain the danger, I am certain the Company will take pains to conceal these matters.” Then with a stubborn tilt to his chin, he added, “This is not fair to Bofur.”

“I believe, Master Baggins, that should you ask when all is done if he would have had you do otherwise, the answer would be no.” He frowned. “He’ll worry about his missing uncle, most certainly.”

“Missing uncle?” Bilbo sputtered.

Radagast waved that away. The uncle had received the note sent by Bifur - so his Lady had informed him. The dwarf was already preparing for the task before him.

“Just what do you intend I tell them?” Bilbo asked with exasperation. 

Radagast blinked down at him. “Improvise.”

“Improvise?” the hobbit squeaked. 

“Feign a head injury,” Radagast said, flicking a hand. He frowned, considering the hobbit’s objections. To be fair, he, too, did not like keeping the dwarves or the elf prince in the dark on this matter. “It would be dangerous to inform them of our actions.”

“But kinder,” Bilbo countered. “We may well need the help.”

Radagast straightened to his full height. “Are you implying I am not up to this task?” he blustered, amusement threatening to shake his frame as he awaited the hobbit’s response. 

Bilbo eyed him uncertainly, his hands dropping to his sides. Clearing his throat, the hobbit changed the subject. “I’ve found something that might be of interest.”

Radagast left off teasing the small man and perked up, Toby’s head craning down to look at the hobbit at the same time. “Oh?”

Bilbo’s gaze went from him to the ferret and then back again. He shook himself. “As I was saying, I’ve found something I believe you should see. Each echnari that I’ve located has a tower or castle upon his lands. I’ve only searched out a handful of them, but in each, I’ve found this peculiar round room with a glowing stone…”

He followed Bilbo as the hobbit told him all he had seen.

OoOoOo

Bilbo watched as the wizard scrutinized the glowing crystal within Quai’s deathly white domicile. Instead of lending the castle any gentility or a gracious air, the stark walls and floors put Bilbo to mind of a white-washed sepulcher. The hollow emptiness only reinforced the notion, for Quai had taken all of his forces and himself off to wage war against Ovid along with a host of echnari.

It made this castle the ideal location to show Radagast the strange room, really. Bilbo assumed many of the echnari’s edifices would suffice, but with Quai ranking as the second strongest, mightn’t the room and the lights be more powerful? More readily apparent to the wizard? Such was his thought, at any rate. 

Radagast tugged upon his beard, his robed form looking like nothing more than a wraith to Bilbo’s grayed-out sight. Whatever spell kept the wizard invisible to everyone else, it did not translate so thoroughly to one bearing the One Ring. Radagast muttered under his breath as he circled around the stone. 

“Do you know what it is?” Bilbo prodded, impatient for answers. Four times had he approached these crystals, though never the same one twice, and three of those times he’d encountered a breathy whisper. Each time, he’d braced himself for discovery, but whatever those whispers might be, they did not originate from the territory’s lord. He’d made certain of that the last time he’d encountered one by tracking down the echnari in question. He had found her unruffled and unaware of an intruder. 

So what, he asked himself, were those whispers?

Radagast’s lips twisted in distaste. “A thing of evil, Master Baggins. A foul sort of magic.” The ferret chirruped, and Radagast nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m getting to that, Toby.” The wizard bent at the waist, one hand lifting until it hovered inches above the crystal’s glowing surface. “You say you heard a voice?”

“Three times,” Bilbo agreed, bobbing on his feet and darting leery looks over his shoulder. These circular rooms, uniform among the echnari homes, unnerved him. He could not put his finger upon just why, only that they felt unnatural to him. 

Radagast grunted and reached into the folds of his robes. He produced a coiled length of rope and unwound it. 

Bilbo’s hand settled around Sting’s hilt. Rope. He certainly hoped the wizard was not entertaining the notion that he climb through that hole. No, indeed. 

Radagast looked about the room, muttering, then those intent hazel eyes drifted in Bilbo’s direction. Wearing the Ring, Bilbo was quite invisible to the wizard though the reverse was not true. “I believe it is time we take a closer look at the source of these lights.” 

“Can’t you…” Bilbo eased closer to tap one foot on the rim of the hole. “…just poke your head through?”

“Poke my head?” The wizard shook his head, clucking his tongue. “When you reach my age, Master Hobbit, there are some things the body can no longer do.”

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen Gandalf fight, so the excuse of age did not convince him. 

Radagast smiled. “I cannot hope to fit. You must be my eyes.”

Bilbo sighed. 

And so it was Bilbo found himself being lowered through the central hole in the floor down into the chamber below. The rope twisted about, turning him this way and that, reminding him strongly of his tumble from the Misty Mountains with Aleks. This, he had to concede, was preferable, for in the low light that penetrated the orifice above him, combined with the small lights making their way to the crystal, he could see white floor not too terribly far beneath his bare feet. He blew at one light as it flew towards his nose, but it passed through him without any obvious effect. 

_Peculiar._ He’d be happy once this adventure business was done. Normalcy, that was what he craved. A good book, a nice meal, and a cozy fire. 

As Radagast continued to feed out rope, Bilbo sniffed. The air held the scent of dust and age. The dark room around him appeared circular, mirroring that above, and the lights themselves originated from no less than a two dozen spots arranged around the outskirts like a wheel. Search though he did, he found no evidence of a door. Had this room been sealed off but for the hole in the ceiling? 

Bilbo returned to the small blobs of light. Though the room was too dark for him to make out what was creating those lights at first, his eyes soon adjusted. Bilbo’s head jerked back. He leaned forward once more. Blinking, he shook his head. 

“Wizard,” he hissed up towards the hole. “Radagast!” 

The rope halted, and a ghostly gray figure peered down in his direction. “What do you see?” the wizard demanded. The ever-present ferret scampered off the wizard’s shoulder and slithered down the rope. When it reached Bilbo’s level, its paws patted the air with disturbed little chirrups. Bilbo debated before reluctantly removing the Ring, bringing all into color and clarity. The ferret crawled across the fabric of his coat until it claimed a spot on his back, its face staring in the same direction as Bilbo. 

“Uh,” Bilbo said, distracted at the idea that the ferret might be more intelligent than he’d assumed. “There are bodies down here,” he called up.

“Bodies?” Radagast echoed. He could see the wizard brace one elbow upon a raised knee, the other beneath him as he knelt over the aperture. If the wizard believed removing the One Ring unwise, he did not mention it. “What kind of bodies?”

Bilbo’s head inched forward as he squinted. What kind? “Long ones?”

A sound of exasperation. “Are they dead or live bodies, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo stared at one for a long, silent stretch. Was its chest moving? Yes, yes it was. “Most definitely alive,” he said, the hairs on his arms standing on end. “The lights originate from them.” 

“Most peculiar,” he heard Radagast mumble. Then louder, “Can you approach one?”

Could he…? Bilbo looked at the rope around his waist and then the floor some three feet beneath him. The body – _No,_ he remembered, _Ovid called them Sleepers_ – was another four yards away. “Sleepers,” he said to himself. Something told him this was important. His hands tackled the rope, loosening the knot. He fell the remaining distance, the ferret yet draped around his neck. “Can you see through this ferret’s eyes as Aleks would?”

A chuckle. “Very good, Master Baggins. Yes, like the naiads, my gifts lie with animals and plants.”

“So you can see this?”

“They do appear to be sleeping echnari, do they not?” 

Bilbo frowned. “He called them Sleepers,” he informed the wizard.

“Who?”

“The echnari holding our naiads.”

“A terribly original name,” the wizard said in an even voice. 

Bilbo paused, his gaze shooting up the hole. Was that sarcasm? How he wished it was Gandalf here. Dismissing the thought, he padded closer, his toes encountering dust upon the floor. “I’m leaving quite the tracks down here. My visit will not go unnoticed.”

The ferret’s scrutiny turned downward. “Well, we can’t have that,” Radagast said. “I’ll remove the evidence after we are finished.” Then a sharp, “What was that?” Bilbo’s eyes flew to the wizard. “The echnari comes, Master Hobbit. Hide.” 

_Hide?_ The Ring was jammed back onto his finger. Bilbo darted towards the closest of the Sleepers to find him lying on a low bed. Bilbo bobbed on his feet, hating the idea of violating this “Sleeper’s” space. At the first hint of footsteps above, he whispered an apology and slid beneath the bed. 

The hairs on his head stood on end to hear a whispered, _“Apology accepted.”_

Footsteps neared, each to Bilbo an ominous boom though the tread was soft. Bilbo inched back against the far wall near the head of the bed, nerves tight. Something caught his attention, and he turned his head. 

What was…? An object circled the next Sleeper’s wrist, and it was from there that some of the light pieces originated. He watched, brow furrowed, as a glow gathered around the wrist, coalesced, and then levitated upwards. Why, it was a bracelet. One of gems, to be more exact. He felt the ferret’s fuzzy cheek pressed to his and knew Radagast had to be examining the same sight. 

He and the ferret exchanged a look – or rather, he turned to the ferret and the ferret looked in the general area where his face should be – then Bilbo turned them around until they could see the Sleeper on the opposite side. From his vantage point, he could not see the proper wrist, but lights appeared to be originating from about where the Sleeper’s right wrist would be. The ferret padded down his back to the floor, then hopped its way toward the foot of the bed. Bilbo lifted one finger, an objection on his lips, but he held them back, watching as the ferret’s head turned in a slow circle. It returned to him only when it had concluded its visual sweep.

Bilbo scooped it back up and settled it upon his shoulder. 

They remained hidden for the longest while, but eventually the wizard’s voice called down, “He has departed.”

Bilbo exhaled and scooted out from his hiding place, instantly moving towards the Sleeper’s right side. “What does it mean?” he whispered. 

Radagast mumbled, his staff thumping upon the floor overhead. At last, “I am going to ask you to do something a bit…rash.”

Bilbo’s brows raised. “As opposed to climbing down into the source of an echnari’s unusual power?” he asked, acting on a hunch.

The wizard chortled. “Very good, Master Baggins. Very good indeed. Yes, this was a bit bolder than I’d intended to be so soon. I feel it imperative that we unravel this mystery now. There is some danger involved.”

Bilbo tugged upon his vest, drawing himself up. “You must return to Middle Earth shortly. I’d rather we do what we may while you are here. Tell me what you intend.”

The wizard’s pointed hat bobbed in a nod. “I want you to remove the bracelet from a Sleeper’s wrist. Be careful, now. You may have only a second before you must return it.”

Bilbo’s hands inched towards the bracelet circling the wrist of the echnari beside him. The stones comprising the bracelet looked similar to the larger crystal hanging in the room above, he realized. “What shall I expect to happen?”

The wizard’s voice returned through that hole, “A number of things _may_ occur. Be ready to re-affix the clasp at the first sign of danger.”

Bilbo took a deep breath and released his grip upon Sting. Both hands stretched out and cautiously touched the bracelet. When neither Sleeper nor bracelet seemed to respond, he fingered the clasp. With eyes locked upon the Sleeper’s face, he released the locking mechanism and drew the two ends apart. 

The Sleeper’s eyes popped open.

OoOoOo

Bilbo raced after Radagast. The furor of a tower in uproar faded behind them as they fled deeper into the forest. His heart, however, refused to settle down.

“It seems you were correct,” the wizard murmured to him as he hurried onward. 

He was? 

“We will need additional help.” 

“What does all of this mean, Radagast?” Bilbo burst out in a hush, mindful of the bloodthirsty trees all around as he jogged at the wizard’s side. 

The wizard’s eyes darted down but failed to locate him given the Ring. In a low whisper: “It means, my fine hobbit, these echnari have been feeding off the energy of their own kind for thousands of years.” To himself, “I suspected they were powerful beyond what was intended. I had no idea such a travesty was possible.”

“The Sleepers.”

“Indeed. And the Sleepers,” Radagast continued, “have been aware this whole while.” The wizard’s steps halted, and he rounded on him. “Imagine being enslaved within your own body, unable to move or speak. Imagine being aware the entire time and knowing there is no way to free yourself.” The wizard shook his head. 

“He begged for our help,” Bilbo whispered, once more jogging as the wizard resumed his ground-eating strides. 

“Yes. And so we shall aid him.” His steps paused, and Bilbo almost barreled into him. “So we shall,” the wizard repeated to himself. Grasping his staff with one hand, he looked down in Bilbo’s general direction. “You must hurry while I am away. Find them. All of them. We cannot do a thing until we know where each echnari and his Sleepers reside.”

Bilbo stared after the wizard for a long moment, eyes wide. Then, he hurried to catch up. “But we don’t know how many there are. Or how big this land might be. How am I supposed to locate each one?”

Radagast never looked at him. “Faerie is shrinking, Master Hobbit. It is not a land such as the Shire with fixed borders and mass. Currently, it is perhaps a bit larger than the size of Mirkwood, just shy of two thousand square miles.”

Keeping his voice low, Bilbo bit out, “I believe you overestimate my abilities. I cannot hope to search so vast an area in six and a half days.”

Radagast continued with his quick pace, not looking at him. “Some of Beorn’s friends have volunteered to assist in this venture. Quite impressed with Master Aleks, the lot of them. I believe it is time to bring them over.” 

Bilbo took a deep breath. “Stop. Really. I need a bit more than vague promises,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “Have you looked around? Things live in these woods that will _eat_ Beorn’s animals.”

The wizard smiled.

“And enough with that,” Bilbo said, pointing one accusatory finger. Then he retracted it with a sheepish cough, remembering the wizard would not see it.

“Pardon me, but I have no idea to what you might be referring,” the wizard said in mild affront.

“Smiling. No smiling,” he decreed. “My friends, in case you haven’t noticed, are in terrible danger. Those _Sleepers_ are in terrible danger. I need more than a general promise of help.” He finished with clenched fists, his body shaking. Enough was enough. He was tired. He’d not had a chance to check up on Daphne and Aleks in days, but the danger circling them could not have abated. The situation could not continue. 

Radagast nodded, his gaze off in another direction. “I am sorry, my young hobbit. You are correct. The situation is very grave.” A bit wistfully, “I have not had such excitement in centuries.” Before Bilbo could express his outrage of that, the wizard added, “I promise, help is coming.”

“When? When can we get out of here?” Bilbo asked in a frustrated hiss. 

The wizard formed the rift and walked through while still tabulating the time required under his breath. Bilbo really wished for Gandalf.

A second later, he jumped as a swarm of massive bees zoomed out of the slit. Bilbo’s eyes widened as the bees circled, the drone of their collective wings drowning out any other sound. They acted for all the world like they knew he was there. 

Could they scent him? After a nervous look around, he dared to remove the Ring. One of the giant bees landed upon his shoulder, its antennae soft upon his cheek. Bilbo cleared his throat, casting a nervous glance at the bee. “Ah. Yes. Well. Master Aleks is that way,” he said, lifting a finger and pointing. “But what we need is for you to locate each castle or tower belonging to the echnari.” A doubtful look at the bee. “Each has a room with a dozen or so sleeping figures in it. We must find all of those rooms.” A pause. “I don’t suppose you understood that.”

The bee on his shoulder buzzed its way aloft. The swarm seemed to split into segments, and the bees zoomed from the area in different directions. 

“I suppose that answers that.” Returning the Ring to his finger, Bilbo hurried towards one of the less powerful echnari domiciles to the west. If they were to locate each echnari, parchment and pen would be helpful. How, he wondered, was he supposed to obtain the information _from_ the bees? 

Yes, he really wished it was Gandalf that had come to aid them.

OoOoOo

The true horror of Faerie was displayed in all its splendor in the weeks that followed. Creatures from humanity’s darkest nightmares proved real and marched upon Lord Ovid in droves. Ovid rounded Aleks up, removing him from the valley he’d inhabited, and penned us both in his tower. We were kept separate, but each of us could feel the other’s proximity. It beat being dozens of miles apart.

Armed guards were our constant companions, as Ovid’s tower was attacked constantly by echnari coalitions. The loss of life… I didn’t see it since he never put us in rooms with windows for obvious reasons, but Aleks was able to get an eyeful through some of his animal spies. As Marcus has said, too many of Faerie’s peoples died as they were forced to wage war upon one another. 

It made my skin prickle. How long before Marcus grew impatient and decided to cut everyone’s losses? A quiet knife, a flick of the claws, and Aleks and I would be removed as a source of contention. Lives would be saved and the echnari weakened beyond their ability to fix. 

_He’s going to turn on us soon,_ Aleks told me at one point. I didn’t argue. I knew he was right. 

I didn’t have the outlet of growing trees any longer, and the lack of that expenditure left me so full of Faerie energy, I took to searching my skin for cracks. No way could I contain all this. When I asked Aleks, he didn’t profess to feel anything anymore, but then, my brother had turned satyr a week and a half before and was so driven mad with fury it was hard to get much sense out of him at times. My guess? He was feeling that overfull bit, too, but where it left me jittery and slightly queasy, it drove him into a rage. 

Ovid won. With Aleks and me to “balance” the flow of energy, Ovid remained strong while his opposition weakened. A few echnari came begging for scraps at his table, accepting servitude with disturbing debasement. The rest refused to bow down. Aleks likened them to a rabid animal throwing itself against a block wall over and over again without control as it scented food beyond the barrier, never reaching it but unable to stop trying. 

Appropriate, but disturbing.

Tensions rose. No one had yet objected to my weapons, so I kept them close, the staff near to hand and the dagger in my palm. It was a good precaution, because Aleks and I were attacked in unison the fourth day into the war by a handful of guards dressed in Ovid’s uniform. I never heard whether they were turncoats or plants, but we each spent a few harrowing minutes trying to remain alive. Aleks drew upon everything Dwalin had taught him, much more confident in his abilities. I panicked, forcing plants to spring to life with no soil or water while feebly clutching my staff and praying I could parry the big blades the three minotaurs hefted as they charged in my direction. 

The first powerful blow shattered my staff and ripped its remains from my numb hands. The second from the fellow behind him had me diving for the floor to avoid decapitation. The third was when my plants burst forth, dozens of vines twining around the three minotaurs’ ankles. I shoved every scrap of energy I had into the tendrils, and they ballooned from thumb-thick vines into virtual anacondas. Minotaurs yelled, Aleks yelled, then more guards showed up and ended the invaders with slashing weapons. 

Blood sprayed everywhere. I admit, I was tempted to hyperventilate – I hated blood and its crimson stains all around me. I hated the familiar feel of it in my hair and on my skin. Instead, I remembered my promise to myself. Bofur would want me to hold it together for my brother and Bilbo, so that is what I did. Shaking, I collected my dropped knife, retreated to a corner, and thanked my plants as they died from lack of soil. 

After that, Aleks and I were moved constantly. An enraged Ovid scanned our jailors repeatedly, seeking any sign of threat to us. I noticed Marcus made himself as scarce as he could, assigning his underlings to guard duty. 

Fear thrummed through Ovid’s remaining servants and soldiers like a plague. They hated their overlord (I _so_ didn’t blame them), but they feared him more. They died by the hundreds in his service, and Ovid never batted so much as an eyelash. They were things to him, pieces he moved and discarded on the chess board with no comprehension of their value. _Just like us,_ a part of me commented.

Bilbo vanished. With the close guard kept on Aleks and me, he had no way to get in touch without handing himself over to Ovid, and the idea of the One Ring getting its hooks into an Old One? Too frightening for words. As much as I worried, I figured no news was good news.

And so Aleks and I waited. We listened to every word uttered in our vicinity, and we hoarded each piece of knowledge like prized jewels. It isn’t that we really expected to be able to do anything to fix our situation, it was that we had no other hope. We kept plotting and planning, and with each day, a little heart went out of us both. 

Ovid would see us dead before he let another echnari have us. 

If we didn’t do something drastic soon, I was afraid that was exactly what would happen.


	58. Erebor's Grief

### Chapter 57

Bombur eyed his brother. The anger had not left Bofur as one week stretched into two, and the second was swallowed by the third. His brother’s grief wounded Bombur’s own heart and, aye, he’d shed many a tear in the quiet of the night after Bofur had worn himself to exhaustion and collapsed upon his bedroll. Bombur did not blame his brother his anger. 

Nay, in this their king had ruled unjustly. Bombur did not doubt his king’s intentions. He was, in fact, grateful Thorin had protected Bofur. It was difficult enough knowing they’d lost their naiads. Bombur knew himself selfish enough to not wish to lose his only brother, too. 

But in protecting Bofur, Thorin had dealt him a grievous wound. Had it been Mib, Bombur would have run through that hole in the world without hesitation, and so he well understood his brother’s rage at having that chance denied him. The need to protect his lassie would be nigh overwhelming. Dwarves were possessive and protective of their wives under normal conditions. With a One, that tendency was magnified. ‘twas always that way with Ones, the bitter accompanying the sweet.

“He is trying to work through the pain with hard labor,” a voice said.

Bombur craned his neck to see the man, Jarel, at his side. He didn’t know the man well, but Bofur accepted the fellowship of Jarel and his family. And currently, his brother accepted companionship from few. Bofur’s feelings of betrayal at the hands of the Company had left him with few from which to take comfort. 

The man handed Bombur a staff, and he accepted it with brows lifted. It was of dwarven make and had two of the traditional four runes engraved upon its length. _Unfinished,_ he deduced. 

“He asked us to keep it safe,” Jarel explained. “It was lost in the fighting. My apologies that it took so long to recover.”

Bombur eyed it, his chest tightening with new sorrow. The staff was Bofur’s work, he realized. When his brother had begun the weapon, he didn’t know, but he had no doubts as to its origin. Would the staff be a comfort or a sad reminder? 

“Does he carry those chipmunks upon him still?” Jarel asked. 

“Aye,” Bombur answered with a shake of the head. “He’ll not part with them. Alvin and Alice are the only animals of Aleks’s we have, and should the lad find a way to return to us, Bofur intends to be the first to know it.” It was a shame about that fox. The animal had survived, but with Aleks’s absence, it had refused any overtures of friendship, and they’d had to set the wee thing loose. 

“Any word of the hobbit?” Jarel asked as they watched Bofur lift a big stone onto his back and move it to where other workers were depositing such rubble. In the three weeks since the battle had ended, repairs had begun upon Erebor, men and dwarves working together to prepare the dwarf kingdom for winter’s fast approach. There was not sufficient time to rebuild Dale or Lake-town before the snows came. Thorin and Bard had agreed the men should remain within the mountain’s shelter until spring. 

Bofur’s self-appointed work was heavy labor. Bombur winced. His brother should not be doing such onerous work, not with his arm as it was, but telling his brother to show restraint these days was like talking to a wall. Or, he thought with distant amusement, mayhap Thorin at his worst. 

“No word,” Bombur said, folding his hands over his belly. They’d searched much of Erebor with the aid of Thranduil’s elves. While they’d discovered survivors from Lake-town hiding here and there, there had been no sign of their hobbit. Or the Ring. 

The man’s jaw tightened. “Too many.”

_Aye._ The battle had been costly, and that was a fact. Oin had succumbed to his wounds despite the elves’ best efforts. Bilbo was missing. Aleks and Daphne…well, how could he doubt but that they’d not be returning? Thorin’s left arm was slow to heal, necessitating a sling as it mended. Fíli limped from a wound to the knee, and Dwalin was yet within the infirmary under an elf’s care. Though Thranduil and his armies had returned home, three healers had remained behind along with Prince Caranoran and Guard Belegon. 

The Company was fortunate, and Bombur recognized that. The men of Lake-town had lost so many more, and the elves too. Those Royal Guards assigned to Daphne – Brethil and Ionor – had both been slain. A full two-thirds of the Elvenking’s army was no more. Even Dain’s dwarves had suffered heavy casualties. 

_Bad enough if we expected peace._ They could ill afford such losses, for they knew the Dark Lord was far from vanquished. He may have lost this battle, but the war remained. Like as not, he regained his strength with every passing day. Mordor had been prepared for its lord’s return, or so Gandalf informed them. How he’d come by the knowledge, Bombur didn’t know. It didn’t much matter. He believed the wizard. 

That Ring and hobbit both were missing was the worst of news. Gandalf had not been told their burglar had possessed the Ring, for if Bilbo did somehow return to them, they feared Saruman would seek him out. With no way of knowing when the White Wizard fell to evil, the dwarves aware of their hobbit’s burden had turned tight-lipped on the matter. 

The Ring’s fate, however, turned Gandalf into a mumbling, agitated shadow that paced through Erebor like a distraught specter. Only the need to find Bilbo had kept Gandalf here so long. 

“Three weeks,” Bombur muttered. “I do not believe we will be finding Master Baggins.” He hated to utter the words, but he’d little hope of a good end where the hobbit was concerned. Not after so long with no clue. 

Had the hobbit been taken? It was a subject of much debate in the late watches betwixt wizard, king, elf prince and Company. The problem was what to do if Bilbo _had_ been stolen away. Prince Legolas and his elves had tracked many of the orcs that had fled the Lonely Mountain. So far, no hobbit had been discovered. 

Bombur rubbed his brow. Trying times, for certain. He dredged up Mib’s round face, holding it close to his heart. Ravens had been sent to inform Dís in the Blue Mountains of Erebor’s reclamation. They also carried a message from Bifur to his father. With Bofur’s lass missing, their earlier appeal to wait for her arrival and assist her in remaking herself into a dwarf lass was moot. Balfur could journey to Erebor or wait as it pleased him. It would be months before any of the dwarves could make their way to them, closer to a year in fact with children and wagons in the picture, but Bombur hoped to see his Mib among the first travelers to arrive. 

Jarel patted him on the back and departed, returning to his own chores. 

Five minutes later, Bofur spotted Bombur on his way to collect more debris. They stared at each other across the space, and Bombur counted himself fortunate he’d not been present when Daphne had been taken. Much anger roiled behind his brother’s eyes, and it spilled over upon so many: Bifur for restraining him, Thorin for his decree, the others who had been present for not intervening. 

Bofur’s fury had climbed with Gandalf’s refusal to consider finding a way for them to reclaim their naiads. That their own wizard would not aid him to his lady’s side was not something Bofur was likely to forget anytime soon. 

The only time that anger had lifted was at Beorn’s recital of how he’d crossed paths with Azog…and run the orc down. Beorn had gifted Thorin with the orc’s prosthesis, much to the King Under the Mountain’s satisfaction. That Thorin wished to have slain the orc himself was plain to see, but Thorin had admitted Beorn’s right was the greater. The Pale Orc had annihilated the skin-changers as a people. As Bofur commented – one of the few times he’d opened his mouth since Daphne’s disappearance – “’tis rather fitting Azog be executed by the last of a people driven to extinction by his hand.”

Bofur made his way to him, his steps heavy and his body covered in sweat. Bombur made a show of waving a hand beneath his nose. “Aye, and when is the last time your body came into contact with soap and water, Brother?”

A glimmer. ‘twas naught but a spark, but it was there, and it gave Bombur hope. “Are you implying I give off a stench?” Bofur asked.

“Implying? No, that was not implying. Do your ears need checking?” he teased in a light tone. “It was boldly declaring. You see the difference?” With an exaggerated sigh, he shook his head sadly. He reached out and roped his brother’s wrist, extending his arm. “You’ve torn your stitches. Again, I might add.”

Bofur’s shrug lacked much care. 

“You must take care of yourself. Daphne would not--”

Bofur lashed out at him with such fury that he was shocked. “Do not tell me of my lass.”

Bombur watched as his brother stomped his way towards Erebor’s gates. While most of the Company had claimed quarters near their king, Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur had returned to the quarters shared by Bombur’s parents so many decades before. That, he assumed, was his brother’s destination.

OoOoOo

Bofur bathed as his brother had requested in his roundabout way. Truth be told, he’d been rank, but he’d not much cared one way or the other. With a sigh, he toweled himself off, drew on an overshirt, and sat upon his bedroll. He felt disjointed, as if mismatched pieces of himself were out of place. The lass was gone. His hand fisted around his wet towel as grief buffeted him anew. The roof over his head was familiar, but it rang with emptiness. He could almost hear his dam’s voice as she teased his sire, and Banfur’s belly laugh that always followed.

He’d told the lass that life was worth the living. There were no promises. Now, all those lofty words returned to him in mockery. A hollowness had replaced his heart, and he’d no notion how to mend it. Or if he should even try. 

Dragging on his breeches, he frowned at a knock upon the door. He’d not seen much of Bifur, a fact which filled him both with guilt and anguish-laced resentment. Bombur had not followed him into Erebor, so with reluctance, he made his way from his bedchamber to the half-rotted main door holding on for dear life to its hinges. Pushing it open revealed Thorin standing upon his threshold, his left arm in its sling and Orcrist strapped to his waist. 

Betrayal. Disappointment. Both emotions surged upon sight of his king, a response he suspected was not entirely fair. Thorin leaned against the threshold and surveyed him from beneath lowered brows. They stared at one another, neither speaking. 

Minutes dripped by, slow and silent. At last, the King Under the Mountain sighed. “Will you never hear me? Have I truly lost your goodwill forever, my friend?”

_Friend._ Pain speared through Bofur at the term. How could his king do such a thing to him? Bofur wandered to the fireplace and braced hands upon the crumbling stone mantel. 

Heavy footsteps entered the room and the door closed with a flimsy-sounding rattle. “I wish you would choose an empty dwelling closer to the rest of us.”

“This was our home,” Bofur said thickly, staring at the glowing embers burning in the stone bed before him. 

The footsteps neared until Bofur felt Thorin’s presence at his right shoulder. “I would like to think the Company is home.”

Bofur’s breath escaped him, and his head bowed. 

“My friend, you must hear me.”

Head hanging low, Bofur closed his eyes, knowing his king spoke true. “Why? Can you tell me that? Why would you allow them to be taken?”

Wood scraped against stone floor as Thorin moved one of the few intact chairs and seated himself. Bofur opened his eyes, feeling his loss intensify once more. A film of tears distorted his vision. 

A flicker of light teased the corner of Bofur’s eye as his king lit his pipe. The smell of pipeweed burned out the musty scent of age that lingered in the room. “Sit down, Bofur,” Thorin said. 

Bofur threw him a tight-lipped grin that held no amusement to it. “Is that an order, your kingship?” he asked with a mocking bow.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “It will be if you persist in your stubbornness.”

“Stubbornness?”

“Aye, stubbornness.” Thorin pointed at him with his pipe. “They are not gone. I have every reason to believe they will be returned to us, but you are so consumed with your anger, you will not hear me.”

A stillness settled over the toymaker. His gaze sharpened upon his king, and he fumbled behind him for a second chair, more falling into it than sitting. ‘twas the truth, it was a miracle the old seat did not collapse beneath him. None of the furniture here had fared well. “Repeat that?”

Thorin puffed on his pipe, exhaling a long stream of smoke. “Are you listening this time?”

That Aleks and his lass could be returned to them? _That_ he’d heard like the clarion of bells. A surreal feeling stole over him. “Thorin, if you know aught, you cannot withhold it from me.”

A small smile. “I’ll interpret that as a yes,” his king said. Thorin leaned forward, right hand braced upon a knee. “Aleks insisted this was not over. He was convinced the Old Ones would heal them.”

Anger simmered, but Bofur held it at bay. He knew some traces of it raced across his face by Thorin’s expression. “Healed and forced to live in such a place is no grand thing, Thorin.”

Gray eyes captured his own. “He implied he knew more. He begged me to trust him in this.”

Aye? Bofur straightened in his seat. _What did you know, Aleks?_ Had his Daphne any inkling of this fate? _No,_ he decided. On this, he was confident. She’d not have gone to the accursed land of Faerie of her own accord. Bombur had told him long ago what he’d witnessed and heard about Faerie back in Lord Elrond’s library. If such had been her future, it would have been evident. She’d not be able to conceal such a fear looming over her head. 

“My Daphne?” he asked. “Did she have aught to say?”

Thorin shook his head. “She never roused.” Thorin puffed upon his pipe. “There is more.” Bofur bit back impatient words as his king paused. _Aye, what?_ he longed to demand. “Aleks spoke in an elvish tongue unknown to him. He had a message for the Elvenking.”

Bofur frowned. A message? Aleks knew no elvish. ‘twas a fact, the lad so shared Thorin’s disdain of all things pertaining to elves that he’d become most dwarfish in his obstinate refusal to bend where elves were concerned. “What was this message?”

Thorin leaned back in his seat, stiffening when the chair groaned threateningly. 

A reluctant spark of amusement touched Bofur. A light in the dark blackness that had been smothering him. Bofur sighed. “Mayhap it is time to relocate.” 

Thorin’s small, lopsided grin was so familiar, Bofur felt his own anger dribbling away. “Thranduil understood the message. It was from Caranoran.” 

The younger prince. He’d arrived minutes after his Daphne’s departure, covered in her blood. Bofur remembered the spate of terse elvish that had flown between father and son, but he’d not been able to bring himself to question. “What was this message?”

“What the message was to mean, I don’t know.” 

Bofur’s brows collided over his nose. “The elf isn’t saying?”

Thorin’s lips twitched downward. “Thranduil informed me his son will say no more. I have pressed him as well, but the elf will not speak.”

The toymaker tugged upon one earlobe. “But what was the message?”

“That,” Thorin said, pointing his pipe again, “is the interesting bit. The message was essentially, ‘I will see you soon.’ What the elf knows or how, we can debate with hope.”

Bofur frowned, his anger and pain finding a new target. Caranoran cared for the lass – the prince’s grief over his foster sister was genuine and deep – so why secrecy? Why not tell _him?_ Surely he knew Bofur would guard any information about his Daphne with his life’s blood. 

_Something is moving._ Something they knew nothing about. _Yet,_ he corrected himself. “Thorin, I leave at dawn to find the Brown Wizard,” Bofur abruptly declared. “I’ll not return until I’ve found him.”

“The ravens are already out searching,” Thorin told him. At Bofur’s surprise, he continued, “They were ours, too. I commanded Aleks to do everything he could to return to us, but that does not mean I intent to leave him without aid. The Elvenking, too, sent searchers for the wizard.” A puff on the pipe. “He also sent a messenger to the Lady Galadriel of Lorien. He told me she has the ability to see through time and distance.”

Bofur clasped his right arm at a twinge of pain and gazed upon his bare feet. “Gandalf?”

The king shook his head. “He will not budge. Ever he reminds me of the danger the twins presented because of the Dark Lord.” When Bofur’s eyes lifted, Thorin added, “He knows not about the knowledge the rest of us carry. I intend to keep it so.”

Bofur’s head dipped, his gaze returning to his feet. “You should not have stopped me.”

Thorin sighed. “Aleks insisted.”

His head shot back up. “Say that again.”

Thorin’s lips twisted in an approximation of a smile. “If they did not survive, he wished to spare you a lifetime alone in that land.”

_Aleks, Aleks._ He’d be speaking to their satyr about this. For the first time, resolve replaced despair. Thorin already searched for Radagast. They would find the wizard, and they would press him into action. Gandalf, Bofur had little hope of swaying, but Radagast was fond of his Daphne. She was likely the only soul but for Beorn to harbor an affection for the wizard, and Radagast had to know that. That had to count. It _would_ count. 

“Now,” Thorin said, rising and tapping out his pipe into the fireplace. “Speak to your cousin. While you’ve been hurting, he and the Ri brothers have been working.” A real smile. “I think you will be pleased with what they’ve been up to.”

A glimmer of warmth. Bofur took his first deep breath in weeks. “Aye.” Another breath. “Aye, I’ll do that.”

OoOoOo

Bombur hid a smile as his brother shuffled his way to him hours later. He’d not moved an inch, confident Bofur would return. He’d not expected it to take hours for some sense to return to his brother’s fool head, but then, he was a son of Banfur. As their dam had often said, there was stubborn, and there was Banfur.

“You waited.”

Bombur allowed his smile to curve his lips. “I knew you would return.”

Bofur closed the distance between them until they stood together staring out at the night-darkened fields beyond Erebor. “I should not have taken my anger out on you.”

Bombur kept his tone light as he wrapped one arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Aye, and who else is there for you to take it out upon? Nay, do not bristle at my words. You think I cannot understand what you are going through? I think to myself, what would I do if it had been Mib, and I tell you, the thought of it frightens me.”

Bofur’s lips curled. “’tis a fact, Mib does bring out your best,” he offered. 

“Aye.” Bombur exhaled in a huff. “That is the truth.” He squeezed his brother, and changed the subject. “I had a particular reason for seeking you out.”

“I’ll be seeing Bifur next,” Bofur said at once. 

Bombur stole the hat from his brother’s head and slapped him on his hale arm with it. “’tis about time, you sorry dwarf.” Then in a matter-of-fact tone, “But that was not the matter that sent me after you.”

Bofur reclaimed his hat with a scowl and jammed it upon his head. “Then what, may I ask, do I thank for the honor of your presence?”

“Gandalf is departing.”

An icy silence developed. 

“He is--” Bombur began, only to be cut off by Bofur’s harsh, “Do not call him ‘friend.’ Do not dare, Brother. He cares naught for our naiads or our loss. Doubtless the wizard celebrates their absence when no eyes are upon him.”

The bitterness of the statement shocked him. Bombur decided, aye, he’d had enough. “That was quite unfair, Brother. You know better than that. Enough with your moping.”

_“Moping?”_ Bofur blinked at him.

“Aye, moping, like young Kíli after Fíli had hidden his favorite toy.”

A slow grin. By Durin’s iron beard, it was a grin, Bombur chortled. Bofur’s gaze hooded. “You’re speaking of that wee wooden box,” Bofur said. “Toys of such ingenuity, Bifur and I made, yet there was the younger Durin, fascinated with a clobbered-together crate of wood.”

Bombur laughed. “What had been in that?”

“Bifur’s gift,” Bofur said with a shake of the head. “Lad loved the package more than the prize inside.”

“That would be our Kíli,” Bombur said with a cheek-splitting grin. “Impressed with outer packages, he is.” Bofur guffawed. Their smiles faded in unison. Bombur nudged his brother. “I know it hurts, but whilst you’ve been pounding your feet into the ground like hammers, everyone else has been working.”

“Aye? Thorin said Bifur had rounded up the Ri brothers, but he was close-mouthed about what they’ve been doing.”

Bombur snorted. “More apt to say the Ri brothers tracked down our cousin.” Bombur’s smile faded. “They feel indebted. Daphne saved Ori.”

“Aye,” Bofur said, and Bombur was gratified that for the first time in days, mention of the lass brought joy to his brother. There was loss, but it was tempered with kinder emotions. “Always leaping before looking, my lass.” A pause. “Can she live, brother?”

Bombur bumped his brother, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Let’s see now. The lass survived being a tree.”

A ghost of a smile. “Aye.”

“And those men of Lake-town.” Bombur switched subjects again. “Bifur,” he said, watching Bofur closely, “has spent every waking minute planning for the lass’s protection _when_ we get them back.”

Bofur’s head whipped around. 

Bombur nodded. “Perhaps it’s time you sought him out.”

A gleam in the eye, stronger than before. “Aye. I believe you are right.” With a jaunty step, Bofur hurried into Erebor. 

Bombur followed along behind, whistling.

OoOoOo

The next morning, Gandalf departed. Bofur stood behind Thorin with the rest of the surviving members of the Company as the Grey Wizard mounted up. Also waiting to one side stood Prince Caranoran with Royal Guard Belegon, and Lord Bard with his new right-hand man, Geffin.

“I have delayed longer than is wise. I can tarry no longer,” Gandalf told them. The horse detected the wizard’s urgency and pranced beneath him. “Thorin, I don’t need to tell you – should there be any change, send word at once.”

Thorin inclined his head.

“I must inform the head of my order about what we have learned. Fear not. He is both wise and powerful. He will know what to do about the Dark Lord’s return.” 

_Aye, likely not,_ Bofur thought, exchanging a fleeting look with Bombur. Daphne’s words warning about Saruman the White did not fill him with confidence. Nor, he thought, the Elvenking’s son or guard. It seemed all maintained the conspiracy to keep Gandalf from knowing too much. 

A part of him wondered why. The time-line could not be fixed with Bilbo and the Ring gone missing. _Sauron at full power._ None dared voice the fear, but it festered in them all. Like as not, each of them had taken a turn visiting Erebor’s dusty library to learn what could be found on the matter, including the Lord of Dale when he’d been apprised of the situation. Bofur hadn’t found as much as he’d hoped, but then, the library was a bit of a mess. Until Ori had time to straighten it out, ‘twas like searching for one twig in a veritable mountain of kindling. 

“My prince,” he heard Gandalf say. Bofur returned his attention to the wizard to find him addressing Caranoran. “If you know where the One Ring might be found, I beg you, tell me now.”

Caranoran spread open palms. “I have said all I am able.”

Bofur’s eyes narrowed, and his ire rumbled to new life. Heartily sick of elf silences and secrets, he was. He’d approached the prince himself the night before with no more luck than Thorin.

Gandalf’s visage dropped. “I fear we will know its location soon enough,” he said softly. “Too soon and in the worst manner possible.”

“My father will see to our defenses,” Caranoran said.

“As will we,” Thorin added. Bard nodded in agreement.

Gandalf dipped his head. “I will return as soon as I may. Be safe, my friends.” With a kick to the horse’s sides, the Grey Wizard galloped away to the south.

OoOoOo

Four days later, Bofur made his way through Erebor’s halls along with Bifur and Bombur. Oh, and aye, two sleeping chipmunks tucked within a sling across his chest. Little Alvin was getting fat from the victuals Bofur fed him, so much so that he wondered if he’d need to be getting a bigger sling. Alice, dainty lass that she was, remained as sleek and lean as ever.

As Bombur had said, Bifur and the Ri brothers had been hard at work preparing for their naiads’ return. With Thorin’s aid and the geological surveys found by Ori in the library, Bifur had selected a space for his project: an underground garden such as the Elvenking’s people had constructed. This one, however, was fit to put the elves’ efforts to shame. The ambitious project would take at minimum a year. 

The amount of progress the Ri brothers and Bifur had made had humbled Bofur. While he’d been hugging his bitterness to him, they’d been laboring on his behalf. Bofur had thrown his arms around his cousin in a silent bid for forgiveness. Bifur had drawn their temples together in lieu of foreheads. No word was needed. From that moment, Bofur had joined the small group in their efforts, finding satisfaction in carving out the large cavern Bifur and Ori had envisioned. 

With each swing of his pickax, he dared to hope the future he’d imagined might not be lost after all. As Bombur and Thorin had both tried to tell him, it was too soon to be giving up. _Especially with such a lass in the balance._ Truth be told, he was a wee bit ashamed of himself for how quickly he’d lost heart. When his lass had disappeared, _he_ should have been the one to mount up and go a-searching for the missing dotard of a wizard. He should have thought of the mysterious Lady Galadriel and sought her wisdom, not the Elvenking. 

_Bring her home, Aleks. Use that temper of yours to protect the both of you, and by Durin, use that stubbornness to find a path home._ ‘twas no small order he laid upon the satyr, but Aleks was resourceful. 

Engrossed in the work, the urgent summons from the king took Bofur, Bifur and Bombur by surprise. They did not bother to clean up, merely slapped dust from their beards and clothes as they hurried to the king. 

Reaching Thorin’s private study, Bofur knocked upon the plank door. It smelled of freshly hewn lumber. Pine, he identified by the undiluted scent. Whoever had crafted the door had been rushed for it lacked any varnish or protective finish. 

The door was opened by their king himself, and the three were urged inside. Once through the door, Bofur’s brows climbed to find a long, wooden table – likely of the same wood – dominating the space. Around it sat Prince Caranoran, Royal Guard Belegon, and a subdued Gloin. 

“Sit,” Thorin told them. 

The three chose seats along one side of the table. Bofur pressed Gloin’s shoulder in sympathy as he passed him by. The warrior had lost one fine brother, and Erebor the most renown healer the Blue Mountains had produced in generations. 

“You’ve not yet explained the purpose of this meeting,” Caranoran said with curiosity…and was that a wee hint of expectation? Bofur narrowed his eyes upon him. 

“No, I haven’t,” Thorin responded. “We must wait for a few more people.”

“You were very specific about who was, and was _not,_ to be here,” Caranoran chimed in, his green eyes intent upon Bofur’s king.

“Believe me,” Thorin grumbled, “all this secrecy does not sit well with me. It was not my idea.”

“Whose, then, was it?” the prince asked. 

“For one unwilling to answer questions, you do ask many of them,” Thorin accused, aborting his attempt to fold arms before his chest with a wince. Bofur silently cheered his king’s words. 

Another rap upon the door, and Thorin waved inside the Ri brothers and Fíli. Each looked down the table’s length with expressions of interest and speculation before claiming a seat. By unspoken understanding, all left the chair at the head of the table vacant. 

Behind them, Thorin latched the door and placed the crossbar over it with a decisive _thump._

“May one presume there is need for such caution?” Belegon asked in a mild tone.

“So I’ve been led to believe,” Thorin said. The King Under the Mountain strode down the length of the table and claimed not the head seat, but the one just to its right hand. 

“Uncle?” Fíli asked from where he’d seated himself in the left-hand chair. 

Thorin settled his right arm upon the chair’s armrest and glowered at a spot in the back of the room with lowered brows. “I did not call this council.”

Fed by Caranoran’s expectant air, Bofur felt a cord of anticipation vibrate through him. Leaning forward in his seat to see around his brother’s girth, his gaze followed Thorin’s. 

“Wizard? My patience is running thin,” Thorin added.

Wizard? That cord of anticipation thickened with strength. At Thorin’s words, Radagast stepped into view, the ferret upon his shoulder and a pony-sized wolf at his side. _Werewolf,_ Bofur labeled instantly. 

He wasn’t the only one, for whispered comments flew among the others. 

“Everyone is here?” Shrewd eyes flew among them. “Good, good.” As silence returned, Radagast homed in upon Fíli. “You will need to concoct an excuse for your fellows’ absences. We shouldn’t be more than a week, and if we exceed that time, it is doubtful we’ll return.” The wizard’s finger plunked onto the table’s surface. “None must know about any of this, Prince Fíli. Not your brother. Not your friends. You cannot speak of it even in the privacy of your inner chambers. Much hangs upon your silence, for the Nazgûl are on their way.”

Fíli’s eyes lit with recognition of the term. Aye, Bofur thought, and hadn’t his lass warned them of the creatures? Bofur wished now he’d had time to learn more of them from her. Fíli nodded slowly. “Not one word, wizard,” the heir said with great dignity. “I will not fail.”

The wizard inclined his head. “Lord Aulë was quite right,” the wizard muttered, his attention turning to his ferret. “It would have been a shame to lose the line of Durin.”

Aulë . Werewolf. While questions erupted around him, Bofur slowly stood. Certainty filled him. Meeting the wizard’s stare head-on, he said, “We’re to rescue our naiads.”

The wizard smiled, and for once the wizard’s eyes met his. “Yes, Master Bofur. Exactly that.” The smile faded, leaving a very intense expression on the gaunt man’s face. “It is time. Arm yourselves, for we’re going to reclaim the two taken from us.” A pause. “And save a world.”

“Save a world?” Nori echoed in disbelief. 

The wizard waved one hand in the air. “We’ll be there anyway.”


	59. The Dark Crystal?

### Chapter 58

Thorin stepped through the glowing slit Radagast had torn in the fabric of the world, his hand tight upon Orcrist’s hilt. His left arm likely yet needed the sling, but he’d forgone it, unwilling to risk impeding movement when knowing the peril of his destination. Faerie, land of nightmares. 

Moving aside to make room for the next arrival, he scanned the vista before them with a furrowed brow. That they’d left Middle Earth was beyond question, for the sun above was a dull orb that glowed with a bluish light, and the sky was amethyst purple. Surveying the new world around him, he breathed deep, finding the very air strange to his nostrils. They stood in a clearing blanketed with grass of an unheard-of shade of blue. A dozen yards ahead of them, misshapen, bizarrely-colored trees filled the land. The queer forest stretched on for as far as the eye could see. 

Bofur appeared at his side, a staff peaking out over one shoulder and his new mattock in his left hand. “How will we be finding them?” he asked in a low voice. Well had the wizard cautioned them about the need for quiet to avoid betraying their presence. The trees themselves, they’d been told, could come to life and consume them should their passage become too noisy. Thorin eyed said trees carefully. 

“You have the chipmunks?” Thorin murmured as the other members of their party ventured through the rift one by one. Each in turn stared around them with suspicious eyes and firm grasps upon their weapons. 

Bofur’s free hand drew back the flap of his jacket, revealing the sling that had become his perpetual adornment. 

_Good._ Other than the barest of facts, Radagast had been short on details, telling them only that they must hurry. It was act now or lose this chance forever. How they were to locate two somewhere within an entire world, Thorin didn’t know. The challenge before them seemed impossible. For any of his faithful companions, however, he would undertake such a mission. 

Aleks and his twin were theirs. _No,_ he corrected himself. They were his exactly as the dwarves of Erebor were his - his responsibility, his to care for and protect. 

When he arrived, Gloin planted himself before his king, ax in hand and eyes narrowed as he turned this way and that. 

“I do not believe we are in immediate danger,” Thorin said with mild amusement. 

“Do not believe that,” came the wizard’s hushed voice. Twisting at the waist, Thorin watched as Radagast closed the rift, shutting them off from all they’d known. The werewolf at his side sniffed the air, ears upright atop his head. “You must remain on guard. There are creatures that dwell here that are as dangerous as Smaug in their own way.”

“What kind of creatures?” Ori asked, the scholar’s hand tight upon the hilt of his short sword. Since the Battle of Five Armies, Nori had seen to it his brother’s training with the weapon was accelerated. They could have lost Ori just as they’d lost Oin, and neither of the Ri brothers was forgetting it. 

The wizard ignored the question, turning to the werewolf. “Carlos, will you remain a wolf or assume human shape?” Thorin’s brows rose as the wolf grumbled and the wizard nodded. “Very well. If you feel it best to remain wolf, we shall welcome your protection.” Radagast thumped his staff upon the ground, his focus upon the woods ahead of them. “Remember, no sound as we venture through the trees.”

Before the wizard managed one step towards the oddly-colored woods, the elf prince spoke. “Can you not share more now?” Prince Caranoran asked, sword drawn and guard close to his side. 

“More?” Belegon asked. Then, “You _were_ aware something was afoot,” the guard accused.

Thorin, too, eyed the prince. Caranoran’s gaze slid to his guard. “I was bid to say nothing.”

The scarred guard, Thorin noted, was not very pleased with that answer. His hands tapped upon the hilt of one of his many weapons. 

Thorin stalked closer to the wizard, tossing a frown at the elf prince. “I suppose we know now who it was that issued you such orders.” Then louder, “Wizard, you must tell us something.”

“Soon, Master Dwarf. First, we are missing one key member of our council.”

Thorin almost tripped. One? Not two? Bombur, he noted, quickly placed a hand upon his brother’s shoulder.

A scream broke through the silence, its origin some distance to their right. The werewolf huffed low in his throat, a worried sound. Thorin’s attention flew to the wizard. “Hold,” he commanded his dwarves. 

The elves sprinted a few spans in the direction of the scream, bodies taunt when they halted upon a cluster of boulders. Belegon’s golden head tilted to one side. “A child?” he asked, his blue eyes flying to the wizard. 

A child? _Mahal, what kind of place is this?_

Radagast shook his head slowly. “No, my good elf. That was no child, though it takes the guise of one when hunting.”

“Hunting?” Belegon asked sharply. 

The wizard’s gaze swept among them. “Forget all you know. In this land, illusion rules. That cry was a predator who uses many shapes and forms to lure victims to its side.” 

“What does it do?” Ori asked.

“Do? Why it eats them, Master Dwarf.” The wizard took a deep breath. “I should warn you that the Old Ones, or echnari as they call themselves, declared war upon the humans of the Earth Realm. There _are_ children here of the race of men. Their age does not protect them from echnari games.”

A second, shrill scream arose from another direction, its tenor different from the first. “Now that,” Radagast said with concern, _“was_ a child.”

Without hesitation, Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur began to stomp after the child in question. They did not gain much distance before Radagast’s calm, “You may do that if you wish. But know this – to interfere in any of the Old Ones’ games will immediately betray our presence.”

All three stopped. Bifur glowered at the wizard. Thorin was a heartbeat from ordering the child rescued regardless. To ignore the plight of such a young one was an act fraught with dishonor.

Radagast nodded absently, one hand stroking the ferret draped around his neck. “Yes, Toby, I’m getting to that.” The hand returned to his side. “Any good we might do here would be impossible, and the naiads likely lost.”

“You intend to leave the other captives to suffer?” Caranoran asked with incredulity. “Neglect a child?”

Radagast straightened and brushed off one sleeve. “Of course not. Did you not hear my words? We’ve come to save a world, not abandon it.” Then holding his staff close to his nose, the wizard faced the direction from which the child’s cry had come. He chanted something with quiet syllables, his gaze unfocused. Then with a sharp inhale, the wizard lowered his staff. “The child has been found by one of Mistress Hunt’s healthy trees. She is quite safe.”

Thorin noted the way Bofur straightened, his attention arrowing back in the direction under discussion. 

“She is not there, Master Dwarf,” Radagast said as he strode away, not looking back. “She created trees free of the taint common to most here. They roam about at will. Come, come, we have a distance yet to go before you shall have your answers.”

With a flick of his ears, the werewolf, Carlos, trotted after their wizard.

Thorin’s chin dipped as he glared at the old man’s back. At Nori’s questioning glance, he nodded, and the rest of them followed.

OoOoOo

_Mistress Hunt’s trees._ The knowledge of her nearness burned through Bofur even as his mattock slammed into one of their attackers. _Mahal, what manner of beasts are these?_ Spider mixed with woman, with leather vests upon their torsos and sharp spears in hand. He’d not imagined such a thing could exist, and he was thinking he’d prefer to not be knowing now.

Another of the creatures sprayed webbing at him, and Bofur scowled as it hindered his weaker right arm. Truly, these beasts were a menace. He yanked his mattock free with his left hand, swinging at a creature attempting to scurry up behind Nori.

By the wizard’s command, their small band fought in utter silence, though Bofur thought he saw Gloin’s mouth move a time or two as he kept count of his kills. When this was done, Gloin would have bragging rights, true enough, though he’d only be able to brag to those present. Bofur felt a grin break through the grim thoughts that had followed him during their journey. Mayhap he should keep count as well, if only to irk the gruff warrior should he chance to best him. 

All around, his companions fended off the creatures. The elves stood back-to-back, their weapons forming a wall of sharp steel. The werewolf darted among the strange enemy, its speed and viciousness a sight to behold. Thorin wielded Orcrist with no sign of weakness along his left shoulder. The blade proved true even here, slicing through enemies with ease. Bofur ducked as one of the unnatural creatures bounded overhead. Nori’s mace knocked her plumb clean out of the air. 

The creature shrieked in its high-pitched voice, the sudden breaking of silence jarring. She smacked into one tree, and it reacted in an instant. Bofur wasn’t the only dwarf, he didn’t think, that was appalled to witness the tree grow a big, gaping mouth and shove the injured creature inside with its branches. 

Ori’s lips parted, but it was Dori who almost uttered, “Mahal.” His youngest brother elbowed him, shaking his head. Caranoran and Belegon backed from the tree with horrified expressions. ‘twas on the tip of Gloin’s lips – Bofur was certain of it – to again tease the elves for their love of trees, but the warrior contented himself with a hike to one side of his mustache. 

As if that spider’s scream was the cue, every tree in the vicinity creaked with the sound of groaning wood. Bofur eased away from the tree to his right. Nori kept pace, plucking strands of web from Bofur’s right arm with a grimace until they reached Thorin and Dori. The rest of the spider-women retreated in a hurry, somehow scrabbling up into the trees’ canopies without incurring their wrath. Radagast lifted his staff, gesturing them all to circle round. 

Once they had done so, Radagast pointed the staff. A burst of light shot out from its gnarled tip, crashing into the ground ten yards away with a spray of dirt. The trees responded instantly, rising onto their roots and shuffling to the source of that impact. 

Radagast pressed a finger to his lips, and Bofur patted the sling inside his coat to calm his Daphne’s chipmunks. There they stood – dwarves, elves, werewolf and wizard – unmoving as oaks, walnuts and pines screaked by. ‘twas unsettling, passively allowing the aberrant things to near and then move on. One minute turned to two, and five turned to ten. Only when the last tree to awaken had passed them by did the wizard signal for them to follow. With supreme care, they lined up behind him as the wizard weaved between dormant trees, his staff held diagonally between his hands and face as intent as Bofur had ever seen. 

Come to think of it, he suddenly realized, the wizard’s vacuous demeanor had been nowise in evidence since he’d arrived to collect them. Bofur tapped his thumb upon the mattock’s shaft. Why the pretense of before? And why did the wizard abandon it now?

OoOoOo

I paced within the confines of my new cage, another windowless room within the tower. Some thoughtful soul (inward sneer) had blanketed the floor with a foot of dirt and random seeds. That alone kept me from losing it. I had an outlet that allowed me to siphon off some of the energy bulging within me, and a distraction to boot. I fed what seeds I felt it safe to feed, and ended up with tall bushes of berries, grape vines, dandelions, chard, basil, and snap peas. All within hours.

It wasn’t enough. The stuff inside me seriously hurt. After weeks of it cramming into me, I harbored a suspicion that I could grow an entire forest and not break a sweat. I batted a stringy hank of green-streaked hair from my face, glaring at it in a pique of obstinate irritation. (Better that than fear, I figured.) I’d always yearned for longer hair, but at the moment, all I could see was that the press of energy upon me was causing physical changes. The hair that had hung to my mid-back at Lake-town now brushed my thighs. 

_Aleks?_

All I got back was a frustrated, wordless growl. Just as I’d been pushed to the edges of myself, so had my twin. The satyr side of Aleks had become dominant just as my dryad nature had done the same. Neither of us had reverted to human in more days than I could count. Aleks understood me, but there were times he couldn’t formulate full sentences. 

The door clicked open, and Todd waltzed into the room. My other guards, four lesser fae of different flavors, acted like the wolf was expected. I hadn’t seen any of the werewolves in days, and I wasn’t thrilled to see one now. Even if Marcus’s threat wasn’t hanging over my head like Madame Guillotine, Marcus had brought me to Ovid, and while it beat watching Bilbo die at Euryale’s hands (or voice), Ovid had proved to be a lot more of a “hands on” kind of guy than Quai. Quai, I’d never seen, but Ovid came by daily, staring at me with those glowing black eyes. 

He discussed the fact that I hadn’t conceived yet as if I’d had parades of lovers in the time I’d been in his care. The first time, I’d almost blurted, “What are you _talking_ about?” but Aleks, coherent at the time, had put the kibosh on the thought and the words, filling my mind instead with memories of Bofur in case the Old One was reading me. 

Later, we decided something was causing the echnari to believe their breeding program was well underway. (Maybe the echnari were as insane as the trees outside?) Either way, we chalked that up to an incredible stroke of luck and didn’t quibble over it. 

After that, I tried to keep up a dialogue with Aleks each time Ovid appeared to prevent my thoughts from straying into dangerous territory – like betraying my untouched status or a certain hobbit lurking about somewhere. I thought about Bofur and how much I missed him. I thought about Bifur, wondering how the dwarf had survived a blow to the head with an ax. I thought about Bombur and our cooking competition, sifting my mind for ideas about how I might have bested him. 

I missed them, all of them: Caranoran, Gwathadar, Rinel, Ori, Thorin… The list went on and on. I tried not to dwell, but with so much time on my hands – I couldn’t really sleep as jazzed as the overfill of energy left me – thought invariably returned to what I now considered home. 

As a ploy to keep important information from Ovid, it worked. It hurt, but it worked. 

“You’ve changed,” Todd said, his eyes following my progress. 

That was random. “The hair,” I said. 

“No, more than that. _You_ have changed.”

I didn’t really care. I paced as I answered a bit absently, “It happens.”

He flashed his signature smile, and my pacing almost turned into me tripping and falling on my face. I’d seen him use _that_ smile only when luring in unsuspecting human women for a tryst. “I like the hair.”

I could say he reminded me of Kíli, but Kíli never played the games I knew this wolf capable of. To think, I’d once fancied the jerk. I shook my head at myself. I’d been lonely. And stupid. “Bully for you,” I said. 

“I know you watched me.”

I stopped. Just stopped. “Back off.”

His bedroom grin grew. “Feisty.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he said as if remembering something amusing. “One of the dwarves told us to stay away from you. Bofur, right?” A derisive snort. “Bottom of the barrel, much?”

I seriously wanted a staff. My hands fisted. One more word, and his nose was going to get it. Two, and I’d draw my dagger and go for the jugular.

“You should eat,” the werewolf pronounced abruptly. 

I threw him a distrustful look. “Can’t.” And resumed pacing.

He squatted down, caveman style, and plucked a strawberry from one bush, eyes not leaving me. “Can’t or won’t?” he asked. Then with heat, “If you think the echnari will allow you to starve yourself, think again.”

The laugh that burst from my lips was anything but happy. “If only that was possible,” I said. My hands buried themselves in my hair. “I feel half crazed,” I told him, my bare feet carrying me in aimless loops around the room. “When they said we balance the energy here, it was no joke.”

Todd’s head cocked to one side in a very wolf-like manner. “Yeah?”

I swung my arms back and forth. “It…It’s like the energy wants balance as much as everyone wants it balanced,” I said, trying to put it into words. “It is shoving itself inside of us to try to achieve it, I think. I feel…” I groped for words. I returned to the only analogy I’d found that fit. “I feel like an overstuffed sausage, ready to rip at the seams.”

“Indeed?”

Todd and I both startled at the new voice. My four guards attacked before I even identified the speaker. I dropped my link to Aleks like a hot potato, knowing this latest would drive him past the point of his endurance. He instantly clamored on the edges of my mind, demanding to know what was happening. 

Muriste. Dread pooled in my belly. How had she penetrated Ovid’s defenses? Her hand flashed, and the four guards fell to the floor, their bodies a bloody ruin. I gagged, turning away. 

“Now that is an interesting bit of information,” she said, gliding into the room. Behind her, creatures that looked like stone filled the hall, only two of the burly figures bending down to enter the room with her. A small smile flitted across her lips, and I decided my twin was right: echnari should not smile. Ever. It wigged me out. 

Memory returned – that same expression had graced her face as she’d taken Aleks and me from Marcus. Marcus…he’d _fought_ her, I suddenly remembered with a sinking sensation. Here I’d been blaming him for so much when he’d already clashed with this echnari and been left a bleeding lump of raw meat on the side of the road. Nancy, too. 

Guilt. Regret. 

Then a new fear as Todd changed with a roar. I knew what would come next – she’d kill him just as she had the other four. Todd had to know that, but if Todd backed down, Ovid would punish him in a way that would make death preferable. Once upon a time, I’d had such a crush on the werewolf – before he’d hit sixteen and turned into such a louse. I began to shake, the realization creeping over me that I was about to watch him die. Womanizer or not, I didn’t want to see it. 

I faltered, and Aleks was there. _Daph?_

We both watched the scene unfold before us. Todd charged, and Muriste responded with another wave of the hand. _Aleks…_ I couldn’t watch this. But contrary to my fears, the wolf didn’t lose his hide or fly into pieces. He hung there, suspended mid-air with legs in movement like he sought traction. 

The Old One stared right at me.

Aleks’s temper turned as icy as Thranduil at his best. For the first time that day, I felt a fully rational Aleks on the other end of our twin bond. I caught a glimpse of his surroundings – a room much like mine sans the dirt floor. He hollered at his guards, warning them of Muriste’s presence. 

“I was going to kill you, creature,” she said in a croon. “End this war and damn us all together.” Shivers rattled down my spine at her fey glee. “But now I think I’ve found a better use for you.” Over her shoulder, “Bring the werewolf.” A sly look my way. “She’ll cooperate to protect him.”

The next thing I knew, I was tossed over the shoulder of a big, stone gargoyle. Sounds of battle raged all around, and I thought I heard Marcus’s bellow, but once outside, the gargoyle spread his wings and launched us into the air. 

That was pretty much that.

OoOoOo

Impatience had gotten the best of him.

Bilbo was willing to admit it. What was delaying the wizard? Had he changed his mind? Were they going to postpone another week? He toyed with the Ring, rotating it round and round his finger as he paced. 

Forest pressed in on all sides, and night sounds began to emerge. Since the echnari war had broken out, the woods between the echnari territories had become a thoroughfare for passing armies. He saw such creatures as the hobbits back home would never believe - creatures with three heads that breathed fire, the gorgon Daphne had described, and even stone-looking creatures that were able to stop the trees with one wallop of their fists. One thing he could say for Faerie - it was never uneventful. 

As he waited, he fretted about his friends. He’d not had the spare time to check upon them beyond a cursory look. Upon scenting his presence, those werewolves had passed him information. He hoped that indicated they’d not yet given up on him, and he also hoped that perhaps they would assist in resolving things should a workable plan be formed. 

Bilbo shook his head as he paced back and forth, back and forth. Where was the wizard? He had the distinct impression time was running out on them, for as the echnari war heated up, the situation for the rest of Faerie deteriorated. While he couldn’t mind it if the arachne were destroyed, there were shy creatures hovering on the edges of echnari lands. Gnomes, he’d heard some labeled. Brownies. Sprites. The small creatures – smaller than hobbits, two of the three – were victims of the echnari’s cruelty. They struggled to survive in the face of overwhelming odds. An impressive show of fortitude, Bilbo thought. He couldn’t bear to see them vanish as the edges of Faerie withered away, taking them with it.

Pace, pace, pace. 

A sound interrupted his contemplation, and his head whipped around. He halted mid-step. As Aleks was wont to say, _hello._ A fierce joy filled him. The wizard had done it. He’d brought the Company! _Thorin, Gloin, Ori,_ he counted to himself. _Dori, Nori, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, Caranoran, and Belegon._ And was that…? Yes, a werewolf padded along next to Radagast. The missing Carlos? Hope was kindled. Bilbo hurried to them as silently as possible. 

“Who is this missing person you seek?” Gloin demanded in as quiet a voice as Bilbo had ever heard from him. Still, trees rustled and the dwarves hefted their weapons. Thorin shot a glare at the red-headed warrior. 

Radagast frowned, eyeing the trees with a hand raised, urging the others to silence. After a few minutes, the trees subsided. “You will have your answers when we meet him,” Radagast said in a hush with a glance at his ferret. “Yes, Toby, I know. Perhaps I should have chosen the elves for this venture.”

Belegon smirked, Caranoran smiled, and Thorin glared the bristling dwarves into a mute show of displeasure. 

Bilbo fell in not far from Thorin, his hand upon Sting. From that position, he guarded them until they reached their destination - the cave Bilbo had called home these last weeks. The werewolf disappeared inside first, followed quickly by Dori. Bilbo moved closer, but his foot snapped on a twig. Thorin halted suddenly, and Orcrist lashed out. Bilbo dropped onto his ankles, heart pounding as the king glared at the empty space above Bilbo’s head. 

“I swear, I heard something,” Thorin murmured.

“Faerie,” Gloin growled, then his heavy brows slammed down in a wince as trees again reacted. 

Bilbo stood, Sting lifted to shield him from Orcrist should Thorin react badly. Then, he slipped the Ring from his finger.

OoOoOo

“Bilbo Baggins!” Ori gushed quietly.

Thorin stared at the Shireling, shock rooting him to the spot, but before any could greet him, Bilbo shushed them. The hobbit jerked his head to the side and hurried into the cave. With brows raised, Thorin and the others followed.

_Alive._ Thorin rubbed one hand over his face. _Mahal._ The weight of their burglar’s presumed death slipped from his shoulders, granting him a measure of relief.

The narrow, winding cleft widened into a cave the size of his bedchamber in Erebor, and there they found Dori pressed against one wall, eyes wide as he stared upward and a strange humming sound filling the room. Thorin looked up, his shoulders tensing to see the ceiling virtually swarming with fist-sized bees. 

“Beorn’s,” Bilbo told them as he waved them farther inside. “So long as you do not disturb the hive they are constructing, they are most polite.” 

Thorin stepped into the chamber, eyes taking in all of the space in a sweeping look. A fire snapped and crackled from the center of the space with a trio of coneys suspended above. Hollowed out gourds serving as bowls were lined up within a fold in one wall, each brimming full of nuts and seeds. This, Thorin suspected, was where their hobbit had lived these last weeks. 

Gloin was the last inside, and his gaze was reluctant to leave the buzzing ceiling. “Beorn’s bees,” he grumbled. 

“Quite the industrious spies,” Radagast informed them. “Sit, sit,” Radagast fussed, leaning his staff against one wall before taking his own advice. The elves heeded him first, taking seats to the wizard’s left. 

Thorin gestured for the others to do likewise. He himself paused to grip Bilbo’s shoulder, his throat tight. “Master Baggins, it is good to see you well,” Thorin said.

“We thought you dead,” Ori burst, the scholar tugging upon his beard. 

Thorin lifted a hand, and Ori subsided. “You followed them.”

Bilbo’s shoulders drew back, and he nodded once. “They are members of the Company,” the hobbit explained. “I could not allow them to be taken and do nothing.” A nervous clearing of the throat. “I suspected the rest of the Company would do the same if they’d had the opportunity.”

A chorus of, “Aye,” answered that well enough.

Bofur leaned forward, arms draped across his knees. “Bilbo, I’ll not ever be forgetting this. If you’re wanting my share of Erebor’s wealth, it’s yours, my friend.”

Bilbo rocked upon his heels, indignant and uncomfortable with such praise, or so Thorin surmised. “You’re share of…” Their hobbit shook his head vehemently. “No, that is not why I did this, and I certainly would not accept any kind of repayment for doing what is right.” 

Thorin gingerly folded his arms before him. “Aleks? Daphne?”

Bilbo stopped fidgeting and turned to him. “I’ll not lie, it has not been easy on them.”

“They are well?” Caranoran demanded simultaneously with Bombur’s, “They are healed, then?” The cook’s hands folded over his belly and his brow creased with lines of worry. 

Bilbo bobbed on his feet as he nodded. “Yes, most assuredly so. Aleks has not a mark on him.”

“But my lass?” Bofur interjected in a quiet voice. Thorin felt his friend’s pain like it was his own. He, too, awaited the hobbit’s words. 

Bilbo chose his words with care. “She was healed like Aleks. But this is Faerie and not Rivendell. She tried to speak with the trees.”

Frowns all around. 

“What occurred?” Caranoran asked in a soft voice, his green eyes intent. 

“They were not receptive to dialogue. They attacked her,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “She is well,” he said, turning to Bofur. “She had marks upon her when last we spoke, but she was well.”

Bofur nodded slowly. 

Thorin changed the subject, rounding on the wizard. “All this time, we have grieved, yet you knew.” To the elf, Caranoran, “You allowed us to suffer, believing them dead?”

Caranoran met his gaze with no anger. “It was made clear to me the price should I not hold my tongue. And lest I am mistaken, you did not truly believe the twins gone.”

Thorin wrestled with that, unsure he was willing to let the matter go. A simple word could have spared Bofur and Ori much suffering. 

“Aye, and what price was that?” Gloin demanded. 

Caranoran’s attention swung to his left, his words heating. “You know nothing about--”

A thunderclap left Thorin’s eardrums ringing, a thunderclap originating within the cave. Thorin’s arms dropped to his sides as he glowered at the wizard. Nori stuck a finger in his ear, wiggling it about. “A little warning next time?” the thief complained. 

“Now, if I have your attention,” Radagast said. To Thorin, “Prince Caranoran knew nothing of Master Baggins’ fate.” To Gloin with an irritated frown, “You must learn some forbearance, Master Gloin.”

Belegon leaned back against the cave wall behind him. “When did the wizard start remembering names?” he asked in an aside even Oin would have heard. 

Radagast flapped an impatient hand at the elf. “Did you find the information we need, Master Baggins?”

OoOoOo

Something nibbled at the edge of Aleks’s awareness, dragging him out of his mindless rage. Daphne was gone, taken by Muriste. Ovid had responded by lashing out at Aleks as if it was Daph’s fault the other echnari had broken his defenses. _Jerk._ His skin still shuddered at the blistering pain that had scalded across his skin. He’d flipped out, he admitted only to himself. Thinking he was on fire again, he’d freaked. Even now, the ghost of that fear threatened to paralyze him…yet his skin was untouched.

 _It’ll take time,_ his twin said. 

He grumbled wordlessly. He hated to lose control to fear like some pansy, and he really hated it that the sister he was supposed to protect had witnessed it. 

Again, that niggling feeling pestered him. It plucked and plucked upon his nerves, saying he needed to notice something, but what that might be, he hadn’t a clue. Aleks frowned, eyes sweeping the room he’d been moved into just an hour before. Since Daph’s abduction, Ovid had taken to relocating him if one of his guards sneezed.

_What is it?_ Daph asked. 

_Not sure,_ he said, his mental voice so much like a riled werewolf that he winced. Faerie, he thought privately, was going to be the end of them. He needed out of this place, pronto. _Daph, if we don’t hear from Bilbo soon, I say we do something._

Her agreement was immediate. 

_Aren’t you going to wait until I tell you what I have in mind?_

_No._ He felt her own ragged nerves and determination. _I’ll try anything. If I have to grow enough trees to tear these places apart, stone by stone, that’s what I’ll do._ Quieter, _I refuse to live like this forever, Aleks._

He took a deep breath. He was glad if he had to go through this, he had Daph with him. Against all expectation, she’d proved a good partner. 

The persistent feeling continued, teasing him with a sense of familiarity. What was it? He prodded the edge of his mind, extending his satyr senses when that failed to provide results. And that was when he felt it. His jaw unhinged, and his eyes bugged out. 

Alvin. Alice. 

_Holy…_ His heart slammed against his breastbone. He tried not to outwardly betray his growing excitement, sitting up and leaning back on straight arms. Focusing in upon that link, he shot down its length until he saw…

_Thorin._ His breath caught. _Radagast. Bofur and Bifur. Gloin._ Emotions surged, pebbling his skin with goose flesh. They’d come for them. The Company had come for them!

_Aleks?_

With Muriste so close to his sister, no way could he share. _Nothing,_ he said, trying to project disappointment. _False alarm._

Daph chewed that over. She didn’t buy it, but with a glance at her new captor, she let it go.

OoOoOo

_False alarm._

My brother needed to learn to lie with more conviction if we were going to survive Faerie. I let the link go as he withdrew, content enough to feel him return to lucidity. 

_Content?_ I sneered at myself. No, I wasn’t content. I was with the echnari equivalent of the Wicked Witch of the West. Bilbo had warned… _Yikes!_ I tossed that thought into my inner recycle bin complete with flushing sound, not daring to glance her way to see if she’d heard. 

Muriste led our entourage down hallway after hallway. No tower for her, she had this fairytale-like castle complete with turrets, a moat, a drawbridge, and…yeah, the gargoyles. But where the fairytale castle would be white and shining, this place was the exact shade of her eyes. What stone provided its building blocks, I hadn’t the faintest, but the effect was shockingly cold. Gargoyles flanked Todd and me, their numbers sufficient that they surrounded us two rows thick on either side. Todd growled low in his throat as we progressed down yet another hallway, the picture of one unhappy werewolf. 

At last, she reached her destination. With a push of her hands, two doors in cobalt blue swung inward, halting inches before the walls to either side. It was the object in the center of the room that grabbed my full attention. 

_What is that?_ I asked, letting it reach my twin. He indicated he needed a sec, so I continued to stare at the big shard of crystal hanging suspended in the center of the room. What was this, _The Dark Crystal?_ A part of me wildly wondered if there was a race elsewhere on Faerie fated to be summoned to rooms like this on a future equinox, but really, that was absurd…right? Either way, most of the gargoyles peeled off, standing guard in the hall outside while a handful prodded Todd and me into the room. The door closed behind us with an ominous thud. 

They didn’t, like, sacrifice people to their crystal god, did they?

OoOoOo

Bofur stiffened when one chipmunk went wild, squeaking as it tore out of the sling, panting and looking around with big black eyes. Before he could get hold of the wee thing, it darted away, racing to Thorin and bobbing up and down, speaking its gibberish in a rush. Silence filled the cave as they watched the animal next bolt to Bifur, clutching his tunic with two little hands and jabbering away. It patted his cousin’s cheek, and rushed off once again, this time for Caranoran.

Aleks. ‘twas _Aleks._ His skin prickled with the strength of exultation rushing through him. They’d found their hobbit, and by Mahal, they’d contacted their twins. 

“Aleks,” Thorin said, but the little chipmunk grabbed hold of Caranoran’s leather jerkin and scolded the elf in very cross squeaks, shaking one paw in his face. 

_“Aleks,”_ Thorin said louder, and the chipmunk left off his scolding to turn his furry face towards his king. The wee animal marched down the elf, throwing angry looks over his shoulder until he reached Thorin and scampered up onto his knee where he sat with great dignity. The chipmunk nodded once. 

Bofur whooped, and Aleks turned to him, chittering. What the lad meant to convey, Bofur wasn’t positive, but he felt emotion filling his throat and burning its way to his eyes. The toymaker dashed moisture from his watery sight and felt the animal clamber up his side until it gained his shoulder. “You have to tell me, Aleks,” he said thickly. “She’s well?”

It didn’t comfort him at all when the animal hesitated. 

“Aleks?” Bofur prodded.

The animal at last nodded and patted him on the nose. It then scurried back to Thorin. 

_Aye, and that’s a sure sign something is not as right as Aleks wishes,_ Bofur thought, his gaze colliding with his brother’s. _He’s noticed it, too._ Bofur shifted where he sat, tempted to demand more, but how, he asked himself, could Aleks possibly explain when talking through the beastie? 

Once it had returned to the king’s knee, it twisted towards Caranoran, squeaking its wordless demands. “It seems, Prince Caranoran, the satyr bears you some blame for his current predicament,” Radagast interjected. 

Aleks’s head whipped towards the wizard and bobbed up and down. A paw pointed at the elf and the animal squeaked. 

“Me?” Caranoran asked. The silver-haired elf’s face broke in concern. “I assure you, Aleks, I meant nothing but to ensure your survival, and that of Hwinneth.”

Bofur froze. Radagast understood every word emerging from that chipmunk’s mouth. Of that, he was suddenly, completely certain.

OoOoOo

Wait. Radagast understood him? Aleks blinked through Alvin, a bit taken aback.

The elf prince spoke, reclaiming his attention. “Tell me. I did not harm my sister?” 

Aleks sighed, eyeing the elf. Caranoran looked pretty upset. Sitting up in his room, Aleks folded his arms before him, grumbling under his breath. _His_ sister. Yet, even with the rage riding him as it was, his protest lacked any heat. Caranoran had proved himself in the past, and he knew Daph would kick his butt if he let the guy suffer now. With a heaping amount of reluctance, he directed his chipmunk answer to Radagast, hoping he was right and the dude could translate, “She’s fine. _We’re_ fine. A few scares, nothing more.”

Radagast eyed him for a moment before translating for the rest of the group. A number of the dwarves straightened where they sat, and Thorin stiffened. 

“Is this true, Aleks? He translated what you said aright?” Thorin demanded.

Aleks bobbed the chipmunk’s head.

Belegon leaned in from where he sat next to his prince. The scarred side of his face was magnified by the glare and shadows the fire threw. “Define ‘scares’. What danger is there? What has happened?” he demanded. 

_Huh,_ Aleks thought to himself. The guy looked ready to charge to their rescue. A quick check by chipmunk showed they were all very much interested in his answer. It was on the tip of his tongue to again assure the group he and Daph were okay when Daph’s, _What is that?_ reached him. He hesitated to divert his attention but then he caught her fleeting thought about _The Dark Crystal_ and felt the way her heart gave a peculiar thump when doors closed behind her. 

Turning to Radagast, he squeaked a quick, “One sec.” He zoomed down the connection with his sister to see… Hold up. _What is that?_

_That’s what I asked,_ she shrilled. He wasn’t sure why, but it was freaking her out. 

_Daph,_ he tried. _It’s a rock._

_I know it’s a bloody rock!_ she snapped. _And I know it’s stupid to get creeped out, but… Argh!_ She shoved what she was feeling at him, and he winced, the rage that had lessened in the face of his discovery rekindling at how threatened she felt. 

_I need to check something,_ he told her.

_Check something?_ Incredulity radiated off of her in waves.

_Just trust me._ He returned to the chipmunk and scrambled over to the hobbit, about a dozen eyes following his every move. Turning to Radagast, he chittered, “I need to know if Bilbo saw any rooms with big stones hanging in the middle.”

Radagast startled. “Tell me why.”

What? What did he mean, _why?_ “Ask him,” he squeaked.

“What is it?” Thorin asked in a low voice. 

The wizard never looked at Aleks’s king. “Master Hunt, I need you to tell me. What has prompted you to ask this question?”

“What is it?” Bilbo asked.

“It seems, Master Baggins, that one of our twins is asking about a round room with a large stone hovering over a circular hole in the floor.” To Aleks, “Am I correct?”

Hole in the floor? Back to Daph, a quick visual sweep. Then rushing to the chipmunk, he squeaked, “You’ve seen it!”

“Yes, Master Hunt, I have. Now answer my question.” The air around the wizard darkened a few notches and the wizard’s voice deepened. 

“Look,” Aleks conveyed, “Muriste grabbed Daph earlier today. Daph and a werewolf. They were carried off to her castle and escorted to the room I’m asking about. Daph’s freaked. Now, answer?” he snapped. Well, snapped as best a chipmunk could. 

The wizard stroked his beard, his eyes turning inward. “What would be the purpose.”

_Aleks?_

_Yeah?_ He willed the wizard to bleeding well answer already. 

_I’m supposed to put on this bracelet._

Bracelet? _Bofur’s?_

_DO YOU THINK I’D BE UPSET IF IT WAS BOFUR’S?_ The picture of this chunky bracelet of uncut, unpolished gems flashed through his head, pretty much shoved there by his sister. 

“Wizard,” Aleks said, the chipmunk’s voice this low growl. Any other time, Aleks would be shocked at the sinister sound the little dude managed, but now he just went with it. “The echnari is making her put on a bracelet.”

“Bracelet?” At that, the wizard showed absolute alarm. “She must not do so. Tell your sister to refuse.”

“Refuse? Hello, echnari. Do you think she has a choice?” The chipmunk tiny arms gestured with all of Aleks’s fury. “Are you completely _dense?”_ he growled again, his temper escaping him. If the chipmunk had incisors to speak of, they’d be bared and dripping saliva. To Thorin, “Why didn’t you bring Gandalf?!” He paced, growling as he wore a path along the dwarves’ and elves’ feet. 

Thorin snapped, “Wizard, you are trying my patience and that of every soul in this room. What has happened?”

Bilbo turned on the wizard. “What will it do to her?”

“What will _what_ do?” Bofur asked in alarm. 

“A bracelet,” Bilbo explained with a short glance at the toymaker. “The Sleepers all wear one.”

“Sleepers?” more than one person pounced.

“Sleepers,” Radagast said with finality. “I shall explain momentarily. Aleks, tell me what is happening.”

Aleks could barely hear the wizard for the thundering fury of his own pulse in his ears. It only grew worse as his sister’s mind seemed to…fade. _Daph?_ Then louder, fear pounding through him, he yelled, _Daphne?_

_Aleks?_ Her voice sounded so far away. _I think I know what that bracelet does._

OoOoOo

Thorin rose to his feet, his anger breaking loose at Aleks’s clear distress. “Wizard, I tire of your prevarication. You will tell us what has transpired, and you will do so _now.”_

The wizard gave him a wide-eyed, one-two blink. “If you wished explanations, a simple request would have sufficed.”


	60. Payback

### Chapter 59

 _I should be panicking,_ I thought. No, really - seriously panicking. Instead, this calm lethargy pulled at me. I felt good. Really good. Staring down at my comatose body, idly noting the rise and fall of the chest and continued signs of life, I felt no real alarm. 

_Yeah? Well, I do,_ my twin bellowed, his voice suddenly tinny and distant. _Why aren’t you **in your body?** _ Aleks stared down at my body with me, his brain emitting this huge, aghast exclamation point. 

The feeling of eyes had me…rotating? Turning? Whatever, I floated around from where I hovered over my body to find myself facing a bunch of ghostly echnari. It should have freaked me out, but in this weird state, nothing felt too important. I lifted one diaphanous hand and wriggled some fingers at them.

A somber male with bronze hair and skin paired with liquid gold eyes floated forward. “We are the Sleepers of Muriste l’Adelon. I am Nurion.” 

I blinked, but Aleks clamored for answers. “Sleepers?” I asked at his behest. Then, mindful of my manners, I returned the bow, strongly reminded of Bofur as I did so. “Daphne Hunt, at your service.” 

Muriste’s solid form walked through some of the “Sleepers” like they weren’t there. She wasn’t aware of us? A burst of amusement rushed through me to think of all the fun one could have if able to go about in this way. I floated up to her and waved insubstantial hands in her face. Nothing. I was tempted to stick out my tongue and make a face, but Aleks snapped, _There is nothing funny about this._

 _Killjoy,_ I chided. Weeks of unrelieved pressure, we’d endured, with Faerie stuff never letting either of us have a moment of peace. No sleep, no appetite for food. Weeks of fear that the echnari breeding program would become one in truth, and fear of monsters and battered looking kids that might or might not be kids. This moment, this surcease, it was beyond wonderful. Guilt flared, but in my spirit, I was tired. I seriously needed a vacation. 

_Killj-?_ My twin seemed to take hold of me and brace me. _Daph._ The touch of real, icy fear that went through my twin sobered me like a face-full of frigid water. 

_I’m tired, Aleks,_ I confessed. _I’m trying to be strong, but I hate every part of this land._

 _I know._ And I knew he did, connected as we were. _We may be free soon. Please, Daph. Ask them. We need any information we can get._

 _Very well._ Forsaking the languid freedom I’d felt, I asked the Sleepers, “How did we end up here? What are those bracelets?”  
Nurion studied me like an interesting specimen under a microscope. One of the others, a woman with a sorrowful mien, answered, “It was a game.”

 _Game?_ Aleks asked. 

I hushed him, urging her to go on with a lift of my see-through hand.

She drifted closer, her glowing eyes dull with past pain. “We were…young,” she told me. “Not in age, but in spirit. The world was new and we were consumed with discovering all its joys and pleasures. There is no excuse. We abandoned our responsibilities for the next amusement, the next novelty, leaving our ruling caste, the echnari, with more to bear – and more power – than was ever intended for them.”

Nurion took up the thread. “We can assume they decided us of little help or value. When we clamored for a new diversion, they concocted one.” A bitter twist of the lips. “We asked no questions but what we must do for the newest game they’d created for our amusement.” Nurion’s insubstantial hand hovered above my wrist. “The bracelets, we were told, would determine our teams.”

Another male sighed. “The echnari must have settled on this as a way to avoid infighting among themselves. Each crafted bracelets with their best skills designed to cause us to covet them.”

“Once the bracelets are donned, the trap closes,” the woman said.

 _But what does it **do?**_ Aleks asked in frustration. 

It was as if they heard him. “It allows the echnari to siphon power from the bearer.”

Aleks had this picture in his head from _The Matrix_ – Morpheus explaining the purpose of the Matrix to Neo: to turn a human into a battery. We shuddered in unison, repelled by the idea. 

“So why me?” I blurted. 

The echnari Sleepers murmured among themselves, exchanging glances. They suspected something, I realized. Nurion glided until he hovered nearer to my body, one hand outstretched. When the gossamer hand drifted through my physical shell, alarm zinged through me. It felt a violation of huge magnitudes.

“Never fear, I shall not cause harm.” 

Right. “Because you echnari are so trustworthy?” I asked. Aleks snorted to me in agreement. 

Nurion’s look was full of censure. “Fairies,” he told me. “We are fairies. Please do not mix us with the echnari. We were selfish and indulgent, but we would never have twisted things as they. We were fickle and shallow, but we are not so foolish as to taint the lands that support us.” Nurion’s hand fluttered above my body. “You hold much of Faerie’s energies.” 

Eyeing him suspiciously, I nodded. 

He smiled gently. “Did you not hear my words? The echnari use the bracelets to steal power. Muriste hopes to gain access to Faerie’s energies through you.” He stared at me hard. “If she succeeds, she will drain these lands dry, using you as a conduit.” 

“That’s bad, isn’t it?” I asked, not really needing an answer. 

“Very,” another female with silvery hair proclaimed. “Not only for what she will do with such power, but for the people who will be lost as Faerie’s borders diminish until there is nothing left.”

 _Meaning we all die?_ Aleks asked. _Everyone?_

I didn’t see how we could survive a world imploding, not unless we were all somehow dumped into Earth Realm. “What do I do?” I turned to Nurion. 

Nurion smiled, and wonder of wonders, it wasn’t the creepy, please-don’t-do-that-again version I’d seen on Ovid and Muriste. “You help undo some of what our kindred have wrought.”

Before he could explain, Muriste’s more substantial form stepped up to the big crystal. The ghostly echnari collectively held their metaphorical breaths as her hand reached out and her long-nailed fingertips glided across the crystal’s surface. A look of perplexity crossed her face, mixed in with a big scoop of displeasure. “There must be a way,” she murmured, eyes turning to me. She squatted down at my side, the slick fabric of her gown falling across my elbow. Touching the bracelet, she cocked her head to one side as if listening to something the rest of us mere mortals could not hear. “I wonder,” she breathed. 

In a blink of the eye, she had that bracelet dangling from her hand, and I was staring up at the ceiling, this icy coldness radiating outward from my wrist. She stood and strode towards the door. “Guard this room,” she commanded her troops. 

The door swung shut behind her.

OoOoOo

_Mahal._ As the wizard concluded his tale, Bilbo chiming in to provide clarification as needed, Thorin’s attention returned to the chipmunk upon his shoulder. Aleks had alerted them to the echnari’s actions with his twin near an hour before. “Has aught changed with your sister?”

Aleks’s furry head went from side to side. 

_One relief._ The echnari, Muriste, was attempting to access the wealth of energy infusing the naiads, and that, Thorin thought, was no good thing. They could not allow such to come to pass. The time they’d had to rescue their pair had just dwindled. He needed no wizardry to know that full well. 

Bofur stood by his side, hale arm braced against the cave wall and body tense as he stared down the corridor leading to the exit. _Best we get to work,_ Thorin thought. _Before he loses all patience._

With a significant look at toymaker’s kin, he rounded on the wizard, aware that Bombur and Bifur immediately collected themselves and joined Bofur. “Let me see if I understand this aright,” Thorin said, one hand tight around Orcrist’s hilt and a tic claiming his left eye. “Faerie is at war. The echnari fight over our naiads. You intend us to weaken the echnari by absconding with their Sleepers--”

Radagast interrupted in a mild voice, his attention locked upon his ferret as he scratched under its chin, “Rescue, not abscond. But thus far, you are correct. Go on.”

Before he could continue, the elf prince jumped in. “Will not the echnari detect any interference with their Sleepers? If they are indeed the source of their power?” 

“Oh, most certainly, but the Sleeper Master Baggins managed to wake assured us they could shield their presence once freed,” Radagast answered. 

Bilbo cleared his throat, his focus upon Thorin. “The echnari knew the instant that bracelet came off one of his Sleepers. The bracelets vary in composition from echnari to echnari. I believe they are keyed to one individual, and he or she is sensitive to anything that breaks that connection. We shall have to work fast and only when the echnari in question is not in residence.”

Bofur twisted around at Belegon’s abrupt, “After the first loss, will they not move to counter a repetition of the act?”

Nori nodded. “Aye. Surely if we don’t get them all at once, this whole plan will collapse like rotted-out scaffolding.”

Bilbo lifted one hand. “I, uh, I don’t think that is true.”

“Explain,” Thorin said at the same time as Caranoran’s, “How so?”

Bilbo’s hand dipped into his vest pocket, fidgeting with something – Thorin stiffened as he realized what it must be, closing his eyes as the temptation of the Ring hit him for the first time. _Mahal._ Had he not the benefit of dealing with dragon sickness, he suspected he might be trouble. Thorin tore his gaze free of the pocket, focusing on his small friend’s face. A new worry – who else among them would be tempted? Rubbing his brow, he promised to keep a protective eye upon his Shireling. 

“These echnari are worse than orcs in their jockeying for position,” the hobbit told him. “They form alliances and break them readily.” Before any could ask, he offered, “They swear no binding vows. Quite careful about that, too, with their fear of the Wild Hunt.”

“Wild Hunt?” Ori piped up, the scholar as ever thirsty for more knowledge. 

Thorin shifted his weight, earning Ori’s attention. “You can satisfy your curiosity later. Unless this Wild Hunt could be of use?” he directed towards the wizard.

Radagast shook his head as he fed tidbits to his ferret. “Not as of yet. I believe they have been blinded. Limited,” the wizard corrected, at last turning to him. “They were intended to be this land’s arbiters of justice.”

“Blinded by these echnari, one could presume?” Caranoran asked.

The wizard hummed noncommittally under his breath.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the echnari have no concept of self-sacrifice. If we take the Sleepers from one, he will conceal that fact as long as possible in the hopes he can reclaim them before his weakness is detected by the others.”

Thorin’s thumbs hitched upon his leather belt, his fingers tapping as he thought. 

“Can we lead them to believe another echnari is responsible?” Nori asked, a gleam in his eye.

Bilbo snorted. “They will believe that no matter what we might do. We could leave a note with our signatures attesting to our actions, and they would believe it carefully constructed trick.”

“Should we do this, how long will it take the echnari to weaken?” Thorin asked of the wizard.

Radagast waved that away. “One could assume it will be quickly. They have become accustomed to a wealth of power at their disposal without question. I daresay it will not occurred to them not to continue expending that wealth when seeking their Sleepers. Once all the Sleepers have been awakened, we,” the wizard pointed to the entire party, “will retreat to the Earth Realm – it is closely tied to this land, so the entryways between them are always open. At that point, we shall endeavor to hide until it is possible to open a window back to Middle Earth on December the twenty-fifth.”

“The echnari will seek vengeance,” Bilbo said with concern. 

“Undoubtedly,” the wizard said.

The chipmunk squeaked for the first time in a long while. Thorin attention turned to where Aleks’s pet sat upon his shoulder. Radagast relayed the message: “He says there are means of transportation on Earth Realm that could be of use, allowing us to cover vast amounts of distance if we must.” 

Bofur rubbed his yet-to-heal arm. “We’ll make this work, of that you can be assured. I’m guessing this is where you’ll be telling us these bees have already done much of the legwork for us,” he said with a chin nod towards the ceiling.

Radagast smiled. “Very good, Master Bofur. Yes, Beorn’s bees have had a week to spy out the Sleepers’ locations. Their task was made easier by the fact that Faerie’s boundaries shrink steadily.”

 _“Shrink?”_ Ori said, eyes wide.

The wizard lifted one finger. “It is not a world, this land. Consider it more an offshoot of the Earth Realm. Now, as I was saying, between the bees and Bilbo’s efforts, most of them have been found. As to transportation,” Radagast said, “we look to Carlos.” 

Thorin joined the others in regarding the werewolf with outright skepticism. Thorin felt that tic claim his eye again. “They are the ones who took our naiads. They assaulted Ori.”

The werewolf, who had assumed human shape not long before, reacted to the scrutiny with a flick of the eyebrows. Thus far, the man had proved to be quiet and reserved, a man with a level head. Thorin respected that, but it was not enough to counter his outrage at the other wolves’ actions. They had left Oin to die with Ori knocked out defenseless beside him. He could almost forgive them for taking the naiads – almost – but this other travesty, he could not excuse. 

Carlos lifted one bare shoulder in a shrug. “I’ll report to my alpha. If things remain the same, he’s in the service of Lord Ovid.” To Thorin, “We’re faster than any horse. Never fear, we’ll get you where you need to go.”

“Aye, but can we be trusting you?” Bofur asked, a hint of hostility in his voice.

Carlos studied Bofur for a short moment. “I’m not going to ask what it was the Pack did to earn your disfavor. I wouldn’t apologize if I knew. We are fighting for our survival, and Pack means everything.”

“Honor means nothing to you,” Thorin accused in a low voice.

The werewolf snorted. “Honor is a luxury we cannot afford. Survival. That is what counts. Everything else is superstition and nonsense.” The wolf spun upon a heel and left.

Thorin leveled a seriously annoyed look upon their wizard. “This is your choice for transportation?”

“Currently, their goals coincide with our own.” The wizard shook out his robes as he stood. “That will change when we leave this realm.”

That was when Bilbo spoke. “Marcus threatened to kill both twins.”

Thorin decided he might just strangle their wizard.

OoOoOo

“Why do you do that?” Todd asked. He’d changed back when the Old One failed to return. One of the gargoyles had thrown a robe like mine at him, and he sat against the wall a couple feet away, legs outstretched and robe gaping open at the chest. He nudged me with one foot.

I stopped rubbing my naked wrist and scowled at him. “They stole my bracelet,” I finally said. 

“Babe, you went down like a load of bricks when they put it on you.”

“Not that one,” I grumbled. “Bofur’s.” I rested my chin on my knees.

Todd snickered. “Seriously? Not Fíli or Kíli, but the toymaker?”

I ignored him. 

“What was it like?” he asked in an altogether different tone of voice.

“What?” I asked grudgingly.

“Middle Earth. Meeting all of them.”

Eyeing him, my lip curled at the barely-concealed envy ruling him. “You would hate it,” I decreed.

“Why?” he burst.

“Because they frown on your kind of activities,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “What part of sleeping around do you think they’d embrace?”

“I’m a guy,” he defended.

I’d have paid good money to watch him try that excuse out with Thorin. 

_Aleks?_

As he’d been for the past hour or more, my twin was distracted…and excited. Prod as I did, he refused to share, leaving me to worry and speculate. What kind of trouble was my brother about to get into now? Hugging my knees to me, Faerie-energy giving me a nice whopper of a headache, I could only wait and hope. 

_Whatever it is you’re up to,_ I finally told him, _make it work._

OoOoOo

For much of the night, the party argued. Their outrage at the idea of allying with the werewolves after Bilbo’s disclosure was like a full-blown winter storm. Thorin let them rage, knowing it best they release it now, for come morning they would have no choice. Without mounts to carry them to the Sleepers, their mission was done. They would work with these werewolves, but he vowed none would lose sight of the werewolves’ perfidy.

Kill the twins? Did that Marcus know no shame? They’d been his wards, by Durin! 

Near dawn, Thorin broke his dwarves into teams before the wolves arrived. The werewolves would carry them to individual echnari lands, deposit the dwarf or elf team there, and then themselves go on to yet another target. They would collect their counterpart team when the Sleepers were awakened and move both teams on to their second targets. 

“Never forget,” he told them, “at any time you may be on your own. Keep in mind all you have learned this night. If you land in trouble, find a safe place from which to wait for help.” The chipmunk squeaked, patting him on the cheek. “Aleks?”

Through Radagast, Aleks told them, “Split up Alice and Alvin. I’ve got two raccoons on the way for the other teams. If anything goes wrong, I’ll know about it.”

OoOoOo

Aleks held vigil from his cage. Too much was riding on their success – it wasn’t just him and Daph anymore, but the dwarves’ lives were on the line, too. He couldn’t let anything slip. Aleks closed his eyes, supine on his back to block out any distractions and began cycling through those under his care. He had to keep watch over them all.

The Company moved fast. Bofur’s group was the first on site. Their werewolf transportation darted off without any words exchanged – not shocking since the Three Bs were still bristling from the disclosure of the night before. 

Slinking among the early morning shadows, they pressed on towards the pink monstrosity of a castle dominating the scene. Aleks sneered at the sight of it. A bad guy with a fuchsia headquarters. The owner was probably scary powerful, but…dude. 

It was as if he and Bofur were sharing brainwaves for the toymaker threw his brother an incredulous look. “I’m taking back all my words about elvish fussiness,” he murmured. 

Aleks nodded Alice’s head from Bofur’s shoulder, and Bombur snorted silently, a fleeting grin appearing on his face. 

As they neared the place, Bifur halted, hunched down near a wall, and pointed out a small contingent of gigantic guards stationed at the castle’s entrance. Cyclopes, Aleks identified immediately. Alice’s head bobbed up, giving him a better view. He’d never seen one in person, and he was curious. 

“Now what do you suppose these are?” Bombur asked.

Bofur tugged upon one earlobe. “That, we can ask Aleks tonight.” He leaned forward, eyes intent. “One eye sitting in the center of their forehead – they cannot have a good range of vision.” 

Bifur nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take care of them,” Bombur said, the big dwarf moving forward before the words were finished.

“You cannot be seen, Brother,” Bofur hissed after him.

Bombur flapped a hand over his shoulder. 

Aleks couldn’t speak for the others, but his muscles bunched up tight as they watched Bombur squeeze his wide girth between a couple of Grecian-looking columns and toss a handful of stones in the opposite directions. 

_Oldest trick in the book,_ Aleks thought. _That will never…_

It worked. Aleks shook his head. Had to be because the guards were Cyclopes, he theorized. They’d never been renown for their wits. The echnari must have taken his or her smarter forces to war. Made sense, since he wouldn’t know about the danger to his power base. 

Aleks smirked. _We’ve got a surprise for you, loser._

Using more stones, Bombur lured the guards away, opening a path for the rest of them. Aleks spared a thought to wish the dwarf success, and then Bofur and Bifur darted into the looming castle in search of the Sleepers’ room. Using the information Bilbo had gathered, they knew right where to head. 

Inside, the castle was all whites and pinks, from walls to ceiling. Statues were situated on either side of every hallway they traversed, and Aleks was flabbergasted when he realized each and every one of them were depictions of the same dude. _Narcissistic, much?_ All of them showed the guy staring out with this haughty expression, his pose screaming superiority. 

As soon as they reached the circular room, the toymakers looped their coil of rope around another of the marble statues and dropped its length through the hole in the floor. The two eyed the circular aperture with varying degrees of skepticism, Bofur tugging on his earlobe. 

Bifur made a comment in Khuzdul, and Bofur chortled under his breath. “Aye, Cousin. Like a plug in a bathtub, he would have been. I’m thinking we’ll have Bombur on guard duty the rest of this day.”

Even Aleks’s lips twitched. 

It was a tight fit for the toymakers, but they managed to squeeze through the hole and slide down into the chamber below. Upon finding no less than thirty Sleepers arranged on identical, low-lying beds, the dwarves hastily set to work. One by one, unlatched bracelets began to fall to the floor. 

Bifur made some comment in Khuzdul, and Bofur clucked his tongue in sympathy. “Aye, right enough, but I’d not trust any of these gems after this.” 

Sleepers roused and sat up in a hurry. “What occurs?” one demanded, a male with black hair and ice-blue, glowing eyes.

“You’re being rescued,” Bofur informed him. “Assuming, of course, you can make good on the promises of another such as yourself.” He paused. “You _can_ hide your presence from your keepers, aye?”

Sleepers that had roused in the interim declared their vehement agreement, relieving Aleks of that fear. 

“What are you?” one asked Bofur, her glowing eyes a freaky amber. 

Bofur threw her a grin, never slowing as he unfettered more of her fellows. “Well now, we can sit and chat with a cup o’ tea if that is your wish, or we can get you out of here.”

The lot of them chose the latter, jumping to their feet to make the task go all the quicker. Ten minutes later, the awakened fairies did their Old One hocus-pocus on the guards, leaving them in snoozing lumps where they stood, and sprinted into the woods without fear. 

Bofur and his kin regrouped to await for their wolves’ return. As soon as the werewolves arrived, the two teams departed for their next targets. 

And so it went. Aleks sweat bullets each time one of the groups ventured into echnari edifices. One time, a guard saw Belegon, but Caranoran slew him without compunction. Another time, Gloin sneezed at just the wrong moment, and Thorin and Gloin had to fend off over a half dozen lesser fae until their werewolf counterparts appeared to even the odds. Against all expectation, things were going like clockwork. 

Aleks dared believe this would really work.

OoOoOo

Nori hissed at his brothers, “Can ye walk a little louder? I’m not certain the guards on the second floor can hear you.” The raccoon huddled within the folds of his jacket stared up at him and nodded. Aleks, Nori knew. ‘twas reassuring to see that intelligence this time around.

Dori grumbled at his complaint, his gait assuming a daintiness more befitting an elf maid. Ori blinked at him with clueless eyes. “We are being silent,” Ori said.

 _Aye, not really._ Nori shook his head. Thus far, they’d rescued three groups of Sleepers. This last bunch would be it for the night, for Nori was not about to ignore Bilbo’s warnings that there were things worse than the spider-women after the sun set. 

Like they’d done a number of times before, they shimmied down the rope and began to free the Sleepers. Always with questions, these echnari. But this time, the first to rouse whispered, “He is returned. You must hide.”

Dori quickly returned the bracelet and stared wide-eyed at Nori. “What do we do?”

Nori tapped fingers against his side. “I’m thinking we listen to the fairy, lads. Hurry.”

The rumble of pounding boots echoed down the hall. Nearing, they were, dozens of them if the thief was any judge. Once he and his brothers had scaled the rope, Ori hastily jumbled the mass together and threw it over one shoulder. Nori guided his brothers into a curtained niche as a white-haired echnari ran by, his troops right behind. The instant the fae rounded a corner out of sight, Nori led his brothers from wing to wing, seeking an avenue of escape. ‘twas in the third that he found what he sought: a window near enough to the ground for them to jump without breaking their necks. The area outside looked clear, but he thought he detected signs of new activity along the perimeter.

Cracking open the window, the thief urged his brothers out. He was last, sealing it and leaping below. Then using every skill he’d ever honed in his craft, he guided them on a zig-zagging journey through macabre gardens with vicious, thorny vines. Aleks saved them, using the raccoon to lure away guards time and again, but even with his help, they were long since overdue to their rendezvous with the werewolves. 

The wolves, the Ri brothers were dismayed to learn, had not waited.

OoOoOo

Todd’s annoyed voice could not rouse me.

I’d been attempting to do as the ghost-like echnari had counseled and get rid of this energy. My feelers had extended, and somehow, I’d managed to grab hold of my trees, those sentinels I’d grown on Lord Quai’s lands. They felt good. Healthy. Each welcomed me eagerly when my energy connected to them. That I was able to reach them surprised me to no end. 

They were a lot more spread out than they’d been before, I realized with a low whistle. What had my sentinels been up to?

Could I feed them more energy from here? _Worth a try._ I really didn’t want to be pumping up malevolent trees to supervillain status with the stuff roiling inside of me, so my healthy trees really were the safe bet. I set to work, focusing upon them and urging them to grow bigger, stronger. The first hawthorn drank up the energy like it was mother’s milk, its energy adopting an almost neon emerald. My lips curled at its happiness.

I was amazed at how little drain I felt as each was supercharged. Amusement filtered through me. These guys would never be considered normal by Earth standards, not after all I’d done. They wouldn’t eat or attack people, but they’d never be lifeless, either. I nibbled on my lower lip as I felt them awaken to a higher degree of consciousness than any tree I’d ever felt before. I absently wondered what the ents would make of them. 

Then I got a load of what they’d been up to – each of them had decided to patrol the forests to protect travelers in need. I had no idea if I’d accidentally pushed the desire into them, but there it was. In twos and threes, they’d set out to do just that weeks ago. Some had already had successes, sheltering people and escorting them out of the woods to safety. One, I was thrilled to note, had become home to a family of pixies. 

It left me humbled. As in Mirkwood, here I could make a difference. I still wanted out in the worst way possible – my fear of this place had not abated one iota – but at least if I was stuck here, I could do something that mattered. 

_At least until the echnari suck me dry trying to access Faerie’s energies or someone kills Aleks and me in their war._

I withdrew from them, much more comfortable with the decrease in energies pushing at me. I thought about what I’d discovered. Could I create more of such defenders elsewhere? I immediately set my efforts to casting about for seeds. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could sense them from a distance, but really, what did I have to lose? Time? Until Aleks finally ‘fessed up to whatever he was up to, or the echnari, Muriste, returned to zombify me, I figured it was worth a shot. 

I was engrossed, tongue clamped between teeth and another five trees under my belt (with me crowing inside at each one), when Aleks finally broke his long silence. 

_Daph?_

I frowned. That was my brother’s I’m-trying-to-be-calm-but-things-just-went-to-pot voice. _What happened?_ I asked him.

“Talk to me, babe,” Todd said, apparently noticing I was “back.” 

“Aleks?” I said aloud, a not-so-subtle hint that I was otherwise engaged. 

The werewolf scooched closer to me, his arm draping over my neck. I shrugged him off with little grace, scowling. 

Aleks picked up on the situation, and irritation surged through him. _Bofur will kick his butt._

Yeah, if Bofur ever made his way to Faerie, I’d clue him in. In the meantime, I’d handle it. _What do you need?_

Aleks chose his words carefully. _There are good guys missing just south of Lord Quai’s lands. I’ve got my raccoon with them, but they need help. They’re stuck in the woods at night, and things are getting dicey._

Good guys? Just what had Aleks gotten involved in, an attempted coup? Did I need to spell out for him just how badly that would go? Apparently, yes. _It isn’t Bilbo, is it?_

 _Bilbo is safe,_ Aleks immediately assured me. 

Wait a minute. _You’ve seen him? And you didn’t tell me?_

_Daph, really, I need your help here._

The worry radiating off of him was bad. Bad enough that I abandoned my intention to rip him a new one. _You’re in luck. I’ve been…er…supercharging trees all day,_ I told him. _They’re all mobile and intent upon aiding anyone they come across in need of shelter._

 _Say that again._ Sharpened interest. 

I first sent my feelers back towards Quai’s lands and informed all my trees in the vicinity that some people needed help. _How many are there?_

Aleks was reluctant to answer, and that I didn’t get. 

_How many?_ I snapped.

 _Three._

Three. I passed the information on, and my sentinels went in search of them. _I bet you could do the same, Aleks. The energy – I can reach Quai’s lands from here. It takes time, but you might be able to befriend something big and strong in the meantime. The sentinels are on their way._

A huge burst of relief. _Daph, you rock. Let me feel where the trees are._ After I’d done so, he said, _I’ll lead my guys to them. Thanks, Daph._

He cut the contact before I could ask for explanations, leaving me to deal with Todd. With a grimace, I decided I owed Kíli a huge apology. Innocent flirt, fine. Young letch-in-the-making, not so fine.

OoOoOo

Aleks had only enough time to race down from Nori’s grasp and scratch out a crude message, “Trust,” when the cavalry arrived.

“Trust?” Dori mouthed with wide eyes.

Aleks climbed back onto Nori and nodded the raccoon’s head. He patted the thief’s shoulder as a line of trees made their way to them. Was Daph leading them? Aleks wondered if she’d figure out what was up, but there was no hope for it. These dwarves needed the protection her “sentinels” offered. 

The trees rumbled their way around them, pushing the other trees further and further away until the dwarves stood in a small clearing sheltered by a wall of protective trees. Nori shot him disbelieving looks every few seconds as if making sure he wasn’t joking. That they trusted him despite having witnessed what the local trees could do meant everything to Aleks. 

When the dirt settled and the trees stopped moving, he climbed down once more and wrote again (the letters all kinds of blocky and crude), “Daphne.” He then followed it up with, “New ride.”

OoOoOo

Nori scratched his jaw as he reread Aleks’s words. Barely legible, they were, but then he’d used a raccoon to make them.

“What do you suppose he means?” Dori whispered.

Nori and Ori froze, eyes racing to the trees around them, but not a one of them moved. They acted like normal trees, and Nori dared to believe what Aleks had said, that Mistress Hunt had sent these. Gloin, Bombur and Bifur had told the rest of them during the long boat ride to Erebor how she’d used trees to protect the dwarves during their time in the Misty Mountains. It seemed they’d not been embellishing. 

“I think he’s seeking ponies for us,” Ori said. 

Nori rolled a surreptitious eye. No pony would survive in these woods. Likely Ori was right, and Aleks was getting them transportation, but Nori doubted it would be anything so safe as that.

OoOoOo

Bofur watched as the sun set upon the second, full day of rescues, satisfaction and impatience firing his blood. Dori, Nori, and Ori had returned late that morning, and with such a tale! Trees had protected them, offered them a ring of safety until a three-headed dog – a cerberus, Aleks had proclaimed via the wizard – larger than a horse had arrived to grant them transportation back to camp.

Their report upon their return had prodded Thorin into full fury. “They _abandoned_ you?” their king had said with outrage, rounding on the ranking werewolf among them. “You said nothing to us, implying only that my dwarves were captured.”

The werewolf had the grace to look a wee bit ashamed, but that was all: a wee bit. ‘twas decided then among the dwarves using iglishmêk that nary a wolf would be allowed to emigrate to Middle Earth. A handful had broached the topic, but the dwarves were resolved. Such unfaithful, dishonorable sorts could remain upon their Earth. 

Ah, but Bofur was encouraged. Since the Ris’ return, he’d sighted a group of such “sentinel” trees himself this very day. She was working, his lass. Aleks was working – the lad had managed to sneak a team of mice in to the very Sleepers the Ris had been unable to rescue. Those fairies, too, were now free despite their keeper being on the premises. Their chances of success were increasing, he thought. _Almost there, my lass. You keep safe for me a wee bit longer._

“Soon,” Bombur whispered as he gained his side at the cave’s entrance. “The task is near complete.”

Aye, that it was. He returned inside with his brother for a pipe, a meal, and an update from their burglar.

OoOoOo

Thorin waited as Bombur and Bofur joined them. Bofur prepared his pipe, his face free of the grief that had marked it for so many weeks. Bees crowded in the rafters, many silent but none still. Radagast murmured to one or two, nodding at whatever it was they conveyed. Werewolves lounged to one side of the cave, separate and watchful.

Thorin’s gaze slid to the chipmunk, Alvin, dozing in his coat pocket. All but the animal’s head was hidden in its depth. The animal perked up as Bilbo stood and gave his report - no rumors of lost Sleepers among the echnari, only a resurgence in their infighting among those who had until now been unified in their attacks upon Ovid. 

“It is time, then,” Caranoran said, his green eyes blazing as Bilbo’s recital ended. “We free the last Sleepers, grab our people, and depart from these lands.”

The wizard stroked his beard. “The bees have not located any new castles or towers. Unless you have heard word of another echnari, Master Hobbit? Jeremy?” At Bilbo’s shake of the head, and the werewolf, Jeremy’s denial, Radagast nodded. “We would have heard by now had there been another echnari of power. Very well. We free the remaining Sleepers, and then we collect both our naiads and the remaining werewolves.”

OoOoOo

‘twas time.

The message pounded in his veins.

‘twas time.

Whilst Thorin, the Ri brothers, and Gloin collected Aleks and the werewolves’ families, Bofur, his kin and the elves followed Bilbo towards where Daphne was held. Bofur eyed Alice, and black eyes stared back. He took a deep breath. Aye, and Aleks was with them. If their satyr was calm, Daphne was safe.

OoOoOo

Thorin eyed the black tower, fingers dancing upon Orcrist’s hilt. Before him, armies clashed, armies of such creatures as he’d never imagined before venturing into these cursed lands. Now, he could label most: centaur, minotaur, gargoyle, chimera. _All fighting at the behest of an immoral tyrant._

Radagast met his eyes, the wizard’s gaze focused and steady. “When the time comes, you must strike the killing bow,” the wizard murmured. 

The chipmunk, Alvin, squeaked, its gaze upon the gaunt man. 

“I understand, Master Aleks, but Orcrist is an extraordinary weapon. Besides myself, it is the only thing capable of countering this echnari.” Another squeak. “Yes, yes. I assure you, I shall be quite busy defending us all.”

OoOoOo

Not good enough.

No way was he letting Thorin bear the brunt of this with only Radagast as backup. Aleks tapped his sister on the shoulder mentally. _Daph?_ And found her telling off a wolf. 

Surely Todd wasn’t still bugging her? What, did he expect to woo her and cop a snuggle in front of gargoyles? Other than both being lowered into the Sleepers’ chamber, nothing had changed on her end but for lack of water and a privy. Muriste had modified the bracelet time and again, yet so far, success eluded her. Thankfully. 

_Aleks?_

He slowly exhaled. He’d refrained from telling her anything for fear they would fail and her hopes would be crushed. He still hesitated for that same reason. 

_Aleks, if you don’t start telling me what’s going on, I will make it my personal mission to keep you beardless._

Aleks snorted. Poor Bofur. She really did go right for the jugular when riled. _I need an army._

Cautious hope. _An army?_

_I need you to hang on just a little longer, but…yeah. An army of trees capable of making a path through all of Ovid’s enemies._

Her mind latched onto his words, turning them over. _Many won’t survive,_ she said, and he knew she was right. If Ovid lashed at them, those trees stood no chance.

 _I know, and I’m sorry. Trust me, it’s important._

A pause. _I’ll ask them. I won’t use force._

Fair enough. 

As his sister broke off to do her thing, he opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and told Marcus, “Get ready.”

His former foster father stepped closer. “It’s time?”

Aleks smiled. “Oh yeah. And you know what they say about payback.” 

Marcus’ face filled with savage satisfaction, one Aleks echoed. Powerful or not, Ovid was going down.

OoOoOo

Something was wrong. Muriste had not climbed through the ranks or frightened other echnari into retreat by ignoring her gut, and her gut was screaming that all was falling apart.

She paced within her library, the new bracelet she’d been fashioning discarded upon a side table. What was wrong? With a snarl, a part of her asked what was _right_ given the alarming wane in her powers and that of her neighbors. Truly, her neighbors’ plight terrified her, for it seemed overnight, the taste of their power on the wind had fractioned to a sliver of its former glory. 

Her fingers stole along the spines of books, her mind racing for possibilities. They then froze. Her eyes narrowed. Why was the female naiad not pregnant? Ovid would not have overlooked so vital a necessity as to breed the creature. Even she, once her temper hand blown its course, could see the logic. And more, she thought, where were the females that should be incubating dozens of offspring by the satyr? 

Something truly was amiss. Amiss with them, amiss with their senses, it seemed. Could such be possible?

She whirled from the room, her steps swift as she raced down stairs. “Tizzik,” she snapped.

The imp popped into existence with less speed than before. And, she noted, he looked less fearful as he gazed upon her. “Missstresss?”

Her steps halted, and with fingernails pressing into her palms, she demanded, “Tell me Tizzik, how many females carry that satyr’s seed.”

The imp smiled. “Why, none, mistress.” And blinked out on her. He would never have dared such impudence had he not known something, she thought. 

She changed course, rushing to her hearthseat. The blue doors, she burst open with a blast of power, and she hurried up to the crystal in the center of the room. Hands grasping it surface, she sucked every ounce of her Sleepers’ stored energies from it, draining it dry. A low moan erupted from the Sleepers below as the crystal in turn drained them of much of their innate magics. Then, she placed an invisible barrier above the influx hole, locking her Sleepers, the dryad, and wolf inside. One pat of her hand assured her that should any attempt to steal the dryad, they’d have a nasty surprise. 

Calling her gargoyles, she ordered them into the air, creating a pair of gossamer wings for herself at the same time. “To Stormspire Keep,” she commanded them.

As a unit, they winged towards Lord Ovid’s lands.

OoOoOo

Bofur waited only long enough to ensure that echnari was not returning before hurrying up the steps of the blue castle and into its interior, Caranoran and Belegon on one side and his cousin and brother behind them. They followed Bilbo’s earlier instructions, locating the proper staircase easily enough. Soon, they were shoving open heavy blue doors and walking inside.

Bilbo greeted them with raised palms. “We cannot use the opening.”

Bofur slowed, one brow lifting. 

“There is no other way,” Caranoran said as if that was not apparent to the hobbit. 

Bilbo shot him a look of exasperation. “I did notice that. Regardless, that Muriste did something to it. I’d not advise going near it.”

Bofur shrugged. “Then we make a new way.”

“A new way?” Belegon asked. “In the time we have?”

Did they not remember they had three dwarves with them? _Aye, and I’m getting a wee bit tired of their lack of appreciation,_ he thought. What did they think had formed Erebor? Magic? Nay, it had been sweat. _Sweat,_ he corrected, _and blood, and hard work._ Bifur and Bombur helped him to examine the floor. Once they had their spot chosen, 

Bofur swung his mattock. _I’ll have you free in two shakes, my lass. Count on it._

OoOoOo

The trees Aleks had promised arrived sooner than Thorin had expected, walking upon their roots like spiders. These, he noted intently, moved much faster than those that had attempted to hunt them upon their arrival. He’d be thanking Mistress Hunt for this, he thought, impressed by her handiwork.

Radagast began to chuckle as the thirty or forty trees made their way from the forests surrounding the tower and began to head up the hill. Upon sight of them, many of the combating forces drew back. “Oh, well done indeed, leaf-child.”

Thorin didn’t wonder about the fighters’ reactions. How many, he asked himself, must have seen loved ones die to feed the unnatural trees of this land? He turned to Alvin. “These creatures, Aleks,” his king murmured. “These lesser fae, they fight out of fear of the Old Ones?” 

Aleks nodded. 

“Will they abandon them if presented a way to freedom?”

Alvin chittered and Radagast translated – Aleks did not know. 

He would have his answer soon enough. “Wizard, follow me,” Thorin said. “The rest of you, hang back.”

“We’re going with you, laddie. Best you accept it,” Gloin argued at once. 

Thorin leveled him with his most austere regard. 

“It won’t work,” Nori chimed in. “Should we not get moving? The trees are drawing ahead.”

Thorin sighed. _Stubborn and immovable as Aulë himself._ By Durin, he was proud to be their king. And, he thought as his gaze moved to the chipmunk, Aleks’s. Drawing Orcrist, he broke into a jog, and then a run until he stood before the trees, leading them. Then in his loudest voice, he cried, “People of Faerie! Hear me!”

OoOoOo

_“People of Faerie! Hear me!”_

Those words changed my world. I’d been keeping a tenuous link open with my trees to assess how things progressed when those _words_ caused the quaking ground under my feet to once more solidify. I had to be imagining things. I had to be… My heart rate shot through the rafters. Hope edged towards certainty. No way. It couldn’t be Thorin. There was no way. 

But I knew that voice. 

Something slammed into the ceiling above us with enough force to crack it. 

“Get behind me,” Todd said, using the excuse to grab me by the waist for a second time that day. 

I stomped on his instep, not that he noticed as his gaze locked upon the ceiling above us. 

“Would you quit it?” he snapped as I struggled to get free. 

“No, I won’t quit it. You stop touching me and…” My hot reply died as a big chunk of floor was lifted out and a face I’d never expected to see again stared down through the whole. _Bofur._ Hot and cold chills broke out upon my skin, and it was all I could do to contain myself as a rope was dropped and my toymaker slid down. 

Then, I was free from Todd’s grasp and in Bofur’s arms, laughing and crying and babbling a bunch of nonsense. He lifted me off my feet, one hand burying itself in my hair, and then lips captured mine in a scorching kiss so familiar, so right and exciting and yet new that my head did pirouettes of joy. 

Other voices sounded around us, but I couldn’t do more than kiss the dwarf I loved more than anything, breaking down and crying as the last kiss ended, my nose buried in his neck where I inhaled, almost afraid to believe. 

_Believe it,_ Aleks told me, a smile coming through. 

_You knew?_

Guilt. A flash of admission. _The good guys I asked your help to save?_

I squeezed Bofur tighter, his chest rumbling with words I did not catch. _Bofur?_

 _No._ A distracted feel. _Dori, Nori and Ori._

Our dwarves had come for us. I’d never been so astounded in all my life.

OoOoOo

Bofur held his lass to him with his healthy left arm, letting her tears dampen his neck. If a dwarf didn’t know better, he’d assume she’d had no warning they were here, and that made him narrow his eyes in irritation. _Not well done of you, Aleks._ Oh, he could well imagine the lad’s reasoning, but to leave his sister completely unaware that help had arrived? He’d be having words with their satyr. By his beard, he would.

Meanwhile, he murmured to his lass while watching as Bombur, Bifur, and the elves freed the Sleepers here. That werewolf – and did Bofur feel his hackles rise each time his eyes crossed the wolf’s – jumped in to assist, and that was the only reason he’d not been dealt with. He’d informed the wolves before that the lass was his. To find one with his hands on her was going to earn that one a hard knocking. 

He kissed his lass’s forehead, the scent of maple filling his lungs. He’d noted the missing bracelet, but it was a thing. Aye, an important symbol, but he could fashion another for his Daphne. So long as she was by his side, he was happy.

That in mind, he used his grip upon her hair to tilt her head back to once more taste her maple lips.

OoOoOo

Bofur didn’t release his grip on me. Not when he drew back for air, allowing me to finally notice my foster brother standing beside us. (I grabbed Caranoran’s hand with mine, both of us so teary-eyed that we looked like we’d just watched a chick-flick marathon of epic proportions.) Not when Bifur hauled the two of us up by rope from the chamber at the same time. Not as we fled Muriste’s castle with the freed Sleepers, and not as we made our way to where (I was told) Thorin, Radagast, and the Ri brothers were freeing Aleks.

But my twin? Yeah, coal in his next stocking. Guaranteed.

Bilbo led us, Sting in his hand, and when I thanked him for all he’d done, he cleared his throat and looked away, muttering about it being nothing. 

Bofur did, however, release me into his brother’s care – once. Bombur hugged me tight against his soft belly as Bofur’s fist plowed into Todd’s face with all of his considerable strength. If he’d not been a werewolf, Todd would forever bear my “bottom of the barrel” dwarf’s handiwork for all to see. As it was, he kept a wide distance between himself and Bofur from that point on. 

As for me? My fingers locked around the fabric of his jacket, the scents of Bofur and pipeweed making me giddy. I was done with being parted. Done with having horrible things happen the instant I was out of his reach. Done, done, done. Other women could have their independence and pride – I’d take my toymaker.

OoOoOo

Absolute silence as the armies faced him. Faces so strange to his sight stared down at him from positions higher upon the hill. Thorin could hear a handful of voices shouting at them to return to battle, and his anger climbed higher. “Hear me!” he bellowed. “Too long have you dwelled in tyranny and slavery. Too long have you died serving those who did not honor you. That time is done.”

“And who are you to say such a thing?” one voice cried. A centaur, Thorin identified.

“We’ve heard such words before, and we bled and died listening to such fools,” another said in disdain.

His grip upon Orcrist tightened. “And if we should defeat this filth? Will you still cower in fear, allowing others to dictate your future and that of your children?”

An uncertain, anger-tinged rumble made its way through their forces.

“And who,” a new, crystal-clear voice asked, “are you to interfere with _my_ lands and _my_ subjects?” The armies parted and a black haired, black-eyed male glided through their ranks. Thorin noted just how fearful the denizens of Faerie were of this creature.

“Lord Ovid?” he murmured, and the chipmunk bobbed its head. 

“Well, he’ll have my ax to deal with,” Gloin grumbled. 

“We could let Ori have a go with his slingshot,” Nori suggested.

Thorin’s gaze cut to the side. “And you believe a stone will slay this creature?”

 _“Creature?”_ the echnari said, his body seeming to elongate much as Thorin had seen Gandalf do from time to time. 

Thorin marched out to meet him, trusting the wizard to intervene should it be necessary. Aye, and hoping that this once, the wizard kept all his wits about him. “One without honor,” Thorin said loudly. “One who must rule by fear because there is none who would follow him otherwise.”

The Old One halted, his black eyes glowing in the muted sunlight. “And what,” it asked, “are _you?”_ Thorin felt pain suddenly seize him, flaying his back from nape to tailbone. The king staggered but refused to bend the knee. Pain, he knew well. He’d not overcome wars and battles to falter before _this._

A mutter tickled his ears, and the pain ceased. Thorin swore he could see the faintest of red clouds rush from his body with the pain’s end and hurl itself at the echnari. Those black eyes burned darker, the incensed regard leaving Thorin and clapping onto Radagast. 

A flare of the nostrils was the only outward sign of the creature’s climbing fury. “These are not your lands,” it said. 

Radagast leaned upon his rowan staff, a vacuous look upon his face. “Did you hear anything, Toby? What? Oh, quite right, quite right.” 

Thorin hid a smile.

OoOoOo

Aleks released all but the most tenuous hold on Alvin, lifting his gaze to Marcus. It was time.

With a curl of the lips, Marcus shifted and pounced upon the nearest guard, his packmates a heartbeat behind. As soon as the way was clear, Aleks leaped over tussling bodies until he was out the open door and down a hallway. The rest of the tower was empty – _Not surprising with a war outside,_ he thought – so he bounded down steps, one of the wolves right with him. 

He could feel Daph urging him on, and a slight grin lifted his lips. She was with Bofur, and he’d be with the rest of the Company shortly, if he had anything to say about it. 

Reaching the ground floor, he ignored the exit within sight, Daph agreeing with his unspoken intent. Down the ebony hall he ran, his hooves clattering loud with each step, until he reached the staircase leading downward. 

Marcus flashed by in wolf form, followed by the rest of the Pack. 

_Good._ The sooner those Sleepers were unhooked from the apparatus, the better off they’d all be. His steps stumbled to a halt, however, when bloodthirsty snarls began. _What…?_ No way. They _couldn’t._ He charged into the room and jumped down the hole, feeling antlers snap on the way through but not caring in the face of what he suspected. Daph’s illness told him she concurred, and he knew it when she buried her head in Bofur’s chest. 

“Stop it!” he shouted. 

Bloody muzzles peeled back and bared teeth at him. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded, horrified. He raced to protect some of the untouched Sleepers, yanking the bracelets from their wrists. In an instant, the first was on his feet, his eyes glowing, though with less intensity than his captor’s. 

The werewolves approached, growling. 

“Awaken the others,” the male said calmly. “I will hold these off.”

OoOoOo

The echnari stiffened, his head whipping so fast towards his tower that Thorin saw Gloin rub his own neck in sympathy.

 _Well done, Aleks._

If the echnari had been angry before, he was well nigh incandescent with fury now. Thorin permitted himself a small smile, knowing it would further goad the _creature,_ he thought with intentional disdain. 

The Old One unleashed such a storm of bolts of light that Gloin and the Ri brothers dove for the ground. Thorin stood firm, lifting Orcrist to intercept one bolt, then another even as Radagast straightened, shucking his feeble guise as the earth underfoot rumbled with whatever the wizard did in response. 

Giant roots exploded from the ground, slapping at and enveloping the echnari. The Old One shouted, and they dissolved. Forward, the echnari stalked, his entire focus fixed upon their wizard. Radagast lifted his staff between his palms and at the ready. A brilliant blaze erupted from the echnari’s hands, forming two rod-like weapons with which the creature struck at Radagast. 

Thorin’s estimation of the Brown Wizard rose as the wizard countered physical assaults in tandem with magical volleys. Arcs of lightning shot between the combatants. The earth shook and sudden blasts of wind threatened to topple each from his feet. Thorin hung back, allowing the wizard to fight but ready to intervene. Orcrist had proved a better weapon than he’d imagined. If the wizard faltered, he would need to strike fast. 

More roots exploded from the ground, and Radagast’s staff whipped upwards to deflect an overhead strike of one light-rod while he dodged to the side to avoid the second. The echnari was yanked backwards by the roots, slavering in his uncontrollable rage. One of his weapons disintegrated in a ball of light, coalescing and then shooting right at the wizard. Radagast’s eyes flared an instant before it smacked him in the chest and sent him flying backwards. 

The echnari smiled. The second weapon dematerialized like the first, and Thorin leaped into its path. The bolt slammed into Orcrist, and once again, the mighty weapon absorbed it, its fine edge taking on a shimmering gleam. 

“Out of my path, creature,” the echnari said, stalking forward.

From the corner of his eyes, Thorin saw his dwarves shuffling closer. He waved them back, Orcrist steady. Thorin smirked. “Never does a dwarf cower away from evil. Long have we fought orcs and goblins, long have we sacrificed to hold back the shadow. Ever will we do so, never flinching, gaining death with honor.” His dwarves cheered and roared their approval.

A new echnari appeared a dozen yards behind his foe with Aleks at his side, and Thorin tensed. But then, the new echnari lobbed a ball of light at the one before him. Lord Ovid screamed, falling to his knees. With a roar, he rose into the air, hovering a good foot above the ground with no wings or supports Thorin could see. 

Those unnatural eyes burned upon Aleks’s companion. “You will die, Lasson. I will tear out your entrails and…”

With a swipe of Orcrist, Thorin ended him.

OoOoOo

Muriste cloaked herself and hid among the trees, fury filling her as Ovid was slain by creatures she recognized. How? How had these short men followed her to Faerie? Her gaze raced to the traitor who had weakened Lord Ovid. Well did she recognize one of the Sleepers, loosed and free. With a pang, she realized these creatures had freed her own Sleepers, too.

 _Vengeance,_ a part of her screamed. 

It must wait. Now, the Sleepers – fairies of lower caste than herself – would regenerate. No trickery would reclaim them, and she was too weakened to overcome them all. She must hide. Disappear and plan her revenge. 

With a swirl of ethersilk fabric, she hurried away.

OoOoOo

Once Thorin and the others rejoined us, it was through a rift to Earth we went. Ovid was gone, but others of the echnari remained, and Thorin was adamant it was time for us to depart. Personally, I was with him. The pressure of Faerie’s energies was too much for a single naiad pair. What that meant for Faerie… I admit, I felt a bit guilty, abandoning all those people and my trees, but Radagast prevented any hasty declarations that might have landed me in trouble by saying the Valar intended Aleks and me to live out our days on Arda. Our reward, he said, for aiding Middle Earth.

“How?” I asked, bewilderment turning me blunt. My eyes left the blessedly normal Earth forest around us in favor of checking to see if Radagast was pulling our legs. Bofur squeezed me tight, I think warning me to zip it. But really, all I could see was the mess we’d made of things. My head dipped until it rested upon Bofur’s shoulder, the too-full feeling of Faerie persisting. 

Radagast smiled, his hand claiming one of mine. Instantly, that horrible pressure eased, and a world of exhaustion crash over me. He next claimed my brother’s hand, and I knew from the way Aleks began to teeter that he’d done the same for him.

“We live,” Thorin interjected quietly as he moved to support my twin before Aleks completely toppled over. “Fíli informed me that was not how our tale ended in your books.”

Well, no. Those intense gray eyes beamed at me and a ghost of a grin appeared upon the face of the King Under the Mountain. “Not preserving your precious time-line, were you?”

I could feel heat stealing up my cheeks, so I fiddled with Bofur’s jacket. Bofur’s hands, seemingly perpetually encased in those fingerless gloves, captured mine. 

“We couldn’t let it happen,” Aleks said, his voice rough.

Thorin straightened with a short nod. “You have my gratitude.”

Aleks snorted in a tired fashion. “We didn’t do much in the end.”

“You did enough,” Thorin said in that same rough voice.

Radagast cleared his throat as he led us away from the portal. “That was Lord Aulë’s intent,” he told us as nonchalant as if he discussed the weather.

Thorin’s steely eyes shot over to the wizard, his brows climbing. 

“He had a hand in your creation,” Radagast said, never turning to meet the king’s gaze. “He remains very fond of the naugrim.” 

“Is that how we wound up in Middle Earth?” Aleks asked, his feet stumbling over themselves. I said nothing for I wasn’t doing any better. Bofur finally got fed up and hefted me into his arms. I started to complain about that – the dwarf’s right arm was injured even if he swore it wasn’t bad – but Bofur wouldn’t be denied. Besides, I admitted with a small sigh, my head felt too heavy to remain atop my neck. It found its home in the crook of his neck. 

Radagast’s staff stamped out an even rhythm with his every step. “Oh, most assuredly so. He knew the danger to the line of Durin, and concurrently, Eru charged his wife with preserving naiads.” His gaze drifted to Aleks. “The answer to both dilemnas, they discovered, could be answered with you and your sister.” A wiggle of the brows. “That your twin is Bofur’s One made their choice of naiad pair a simple one.”

 _“Oi!”_ Bofur exclaimed. My dwarf looked completely flabbergasted that Mahal knew who he was, much less cared. I kissed the underside of his cheek. I was biased, but I saw no reason Mahal wouldn’t have a fondness for my toymaker.

Radagast continued. “Much was achieved by the Valar through your presence. Naiads have been saved. The Elvenking’s Halls have been secured against further encroachment.” He turned hazel eyes my way but didn’t quite connect. “The Elvenking himself will prove immune to Sauron’s influence in the future.” 

“Naiads saved?” Aleks interrupted, returning to a previous point. He really was having difficulty walking, his gait more akin to something from a zombie in a horror flick. How he was still upright was beyond me - weeks without proper rest and now the Faerie-stuff gone? My bones felt like Jell-O. 

How could Radagast stand to harbor what we’d both had crammed inside of us? _Wizard,_ a part of me mentally labeled. _Wizard,_ the rest of me agreed, impressed.

Radagast hummed under his breath. “The energy you stored,” he said at last with the barest of smiles. “With only two of you, the Faerie energies you accumulated were substantial. With it, I shall be able to return a number to their former selves. Fear not. Your people shall be saved.”

 _Huh._ I’d celebrate later, I decided, letting my eyelids slide shut.

We ended up leaving woods and stepping out onto a paved street. The Company followed it with varying expressions of interest and bemusement. The skyscrapers, they ogled, and once Aleks and I saw them, we realized where we were. Central Park. New York City...only it was vastly different to what it had been. 

When billboards came into view, the old fashioned ones not needing power at any rate, our dwarves turned positively scandalized. Many a disbelieving glower turned Aleks’s way. (I pretended not to know about it, content to drowse in Bofur’s arms.) 

I don’t know what Aleks and I expected to find, but the silent city, the busted out windows and abandoned cars was not it. It reminded me strongly of the aftermath of an apocalyptic flick. The wolves got all kinds of upset over the clear indications of war in the burned-out husk of many buildings and quickly trooped off in search of a working vehicle in an attempt to return to what was left of their homes.

I think we all breathed a bit easier with them gone. What they’d done to those sleeping fairies was not something any of us would forget. 

With his scrounged up newspaper, Aleks was able to shed light on the events as they’d unfolded in our absence. Humans had retreated to reinforced cities after months of Faerie monsters basically devouring anyone they could get their hands on. That was _after_ a nuclear strike at the site of one of the Faerie-Earth access points. The bomb had done nothing but remove the Earth-side area from the livable list for the next few million years. 

Oh, it had killed some of the fae, no doubt, but not enough to make a difference. 

I would have liked to blame the echnari for all the travesties the humans had suffered in our absence, but the newspapers proved one other thing: the lesser fae had lashed back after generations of oppression. Earth was not a pretty sight. 

Instead of staying on the move, Radagast assured us he would know if any of the echnari ventured out of Faerie in pursuit, so we holed up in an old motel, sleeping, eating what we could find, and just celebrating that we were all together. My weeks of lack of sleep came crashing down like a landslide. Aleks and I slept – too much, actually, for before we knew it, Radagast was issuing orders and sending us back to Middle Earth. 

It was December 25th, and we were being separated from each other and our dwarves. _Merry Christmas,_ I grumbled to myself, totally unhappy with Radagast’s decrees. Since he’d told us his intentions, I’d had a death grip on Bofur’s hand.

“What about you?” Ori asked.

Radagast smiled at us and patted his ferret. “Oh, goodness me? Are you saying I’ll be missed?” Our wizard preened at the idea. Then more somberly, “Someone must restore Faerie.”

“You can do that?” Aleks asked.

Radagast thumped his staff upon “Never fear. Things will be put to right.”

After that, we were parted – Aleks and I to be remade so that Sauron would not learn we returned, the dwarves back to their lives to feign grief and ignorance while the Nazgûl prowled about, and my foster brother and Belegon to live out the next few years without betraying to Gwathadar or anyone what had transpired. 

I separated from Bofur to hug my silver-haired brother tight. His fabulous eyes twinkled down at me. “Thank you,” I whispered, staring up at him. “Thank you for convincing Aleks to let them take us.”

We both teared up as his hand rested on the crown of my head. “You are family, _penneth._ There is little I would not risk if it meant you remained among us. It was selfish of me to take such a risk without consulting you.”

I shook my head. “Not selfish,” I corrected. “Not when there was a chance at a happy ending.” We hugged again. “How do you say goodbye in Sindarin?”

His smile lit his whole face. _“Navaer,”_ he told me. “Farewell, for this is not goodbye, _muinthel._ Be safe.” 

I returned to Bofur’s embrace. No way was I okay with being severed from him yet again, but Radagast made a compelling case. Truthfully, I knew he was right, I just didn’t want to be Bofur-less. When I’d told Thranduil that Bofur made life wonderful, I’d meant it. I clutched at his jacket, my fingers unwilling to let go. 

Bofur tugged on that lock of hair. “Trust me, my Daphne. Remember that plan we spoke of? You must vanish for a time, aye?” 

I took a deep inhale. Vanish, yes, but not without him. 

“We sent word to my uncle,” he continued. “He’ll be ready for you, lass. He’ll keep you safe for me.” His forehead dropped to mine, his eyes staring deep into my own. 

_Don’t want to go, don’t want to go._

_Daph, we have to._

My brother’s words were only an affirmation of what I already knew. We’d never be safe if we tried to blithely return to Erebor. The Nazgûl would find us, Sauron would torture us, and it would be downhill from there. 

_You can do this,_ Aleks coaxed.

 _I know,_ I said at last. _I just don’t want to._ Sympathy came from my brother as my hands framed Bofur’s face. “Don’t you go eyeing any dwarf lasses while I’m away,” I said, my voice all wobbly and my eyesight wonky with tears. 

“’twill be a difficult thing you ask of me, to be sure,” Bofur jested. Then pulling me closer, he said, “Not a one could compare, my Daphne. You listen to Balfur, aye? You must learn our ways without flaw.”

A shaky sigh. “I know. How am I supposed to explain away my lack of beard?” I plucked at his jacket. 

“For that,” Thorin said, stepping to our side, “I have a solution.” 

“Aye?” Bofur cuddled me against his side. 

Thorin’s lips twitched. He was getting a kick out of Bofur and me together, I thought. “I seem to recall a cousin of your sire’s, Dori,” Thorin said, turning to the eldest of the Ri brothers, “departing after the Battle of Dimrill Dale with the Stiffbeards.”

The Ri brothers all nodded as if that was a given. Nori said, “Aye, Huri took a fancy to a Stiffbeard dwarrowmaid, a warrior of note, if I recall aright.”

Ori nodded. “Aye, our sire mentioned it with pride, for Aldís was set upon remaining alone to devote her time to her craft before she met Huri.”

Thorin placed a hand on my shoulder. “You will return to us a child of Huri. It will give you family among us,” he said, inclining his head towards the Ris, “and a background that will appease many.” A brief smile. “Not all dwarrowmaids have full beards, and the Stiffbeard dwarrowmaids less than other Houses. It will work.”

And so it was we parted ways. Again. 

For the record? It wasn’t any easier with repetition.

OoOoOo

Bilbo followed the dwarves through the rift, leaving the strange and empty Earth Realm behind. He found himself in a large, rectangular room dominated by a wooden table surrounded by armchairs.

“Home,” Dori said. 

“From this moment on,” Thorin said, “not a word. Not in private, not at any time.”

The lot of them, from elf to hobbit, stared at each other, recognizing the heavy task before them. They must chose every word for the next four years with care, for that was – according to Radagast – the longest he could see the Dark Lord sparing his Nazgûl in search of the twins.

The Ring, however, was a different matter, but Sauron had no clue as to where it was. Once he was certain none of the dwarves or elves had it, his eye would turn elsewhere, finally allowing Aleks and Daphne to return. Bilbo only hoped that eye never turned his way. He didn’t mind saying he’d had quite enough adventure.

Bilbo startled when he placed a hand into his pocket. He’d forgotten. “Bofur.” When the dwarf turned to him, he withdrew the wooden bracelet from his pocket. “I- I’m deeply sorry. I forgot I saved this.”

A slow grin claimed the dwarf as he accepted it. “I’ll not be asking the how, only thanking you again, Bilbo.” Hand wrapping around the piece of jewelry, Bofur stepped forward and hugged him. 

The Three Bs departed, as did the Ri brothers and the elves. 

Bilbo’s hand slipped into his pocket again to seek out the familiar curve of the Ring. His heart stopped. His body stiffened. 

It was gone.


	61. Epilogue

### Epilogue

“I’m thinking you should move it to the left.”

At Bombur’s comment, Bofur snorted, his gaze sidling to where his rotund brother pointed with a roasted turkey leg at the tree he’d just planted. His brother looked good, he decided. Married life, and Mib’s return, agreed with him. _Fatherhood_ agreed with him, he amended with both happiness and a wee pang of envy. Bombur’s firstborn, Banur, was as lively a dwarf babe as any Bofur had ever seen. All of the Company doted on the lad.

“It’s a tree,” he told his brother with a huff. “I’m not thinking it makes much difference so long as it has water and a bit of sunlight.” 

His brother frowned, head cocking one way and then the other. He shook his head in a sad no. “’tis like the cooking. You’ve no eye for aesthetics.”

Bofur’s lips curled in a half grin. “Aesthetics? You know, I do believe I’ve heard that term before. A grand word, indeed, my brother. Mib has been good for your vocabulary.”

The turkey leg pointed at him this time. “Now that was just plain rude.”

Bofur’s soft chortle conveyed in no uncertain terms that he was onto Bombur’s load of refuse. ‘twas always the same. Bombur and Bifur did all they could to ease his loneliness, and his appreciation for his kin could not climb higher. Nor, he thought, for Thorin. He eyed the space before him with growing satisfaction. Even the Elvenking had deigned to assist with his project, though they coached it in terms of Erebor’s future stability - the mountain could be defended much more easily with its own, internal food source. 

Bofur had longed to whisper to the elf that his Hwinneth would return. Radagast’s stern admonition kept him silent, but his sympathies were roused for the elf. The Elvenking loved his lass, a fact that had become plain as time passed. The elf had gone so far as to inform him that if his daughter should return, he granted Bofur leave to place both second and third braid in her hair. 

All that was needed now was for his lass to return. Three years had passed. _One more,_ he thought, willing it to be so. There had been no sign of their Brown Wizard, and contrary to his Daphne’s stories, Bilbo had returned to Erebor after proving to the hobbits auctioning his belongings that he did indeed live. The elder two Ri brothers had accompanied him, saying they all owed a debt to their burglar.

Bofur stabbed his shovel into the ground with more force than strictly necessary. Bombur’s hand came to his shoulder. “Another _year,_ Bombur.” With a sigh, he returned the shovel to the storage shed he’d constructed over two years ago, back when this project had been sad-looking indeed. Now, the space mirrored the Elvenking’s underground gardens, only this was bigger. Richer. Thanks to _dwarf_ ingenuity, Thorin had proclaimed more than once, it was bathed in brighter sunlight, and the garden truly sounded with life, it did. Wee songbirds had found their way inside, and Beorn had sent them a colony of his prized bees. Aleks, too, would find comfort and rest here. 

“Nay, Brother,” Bombur said softly. “Closer to nine months now.”

Bofur nodded, but nine months or a year, it felt too long. This separation had been necessary, but he wanted his lass back. _We could have had two sets of twins ere now,_ he thought with fierce longing.

Bifur wandered in through the only passageway into the garden. He spoke no word, only lifted one brow. 

“Aye,” Bofur answered with feeling. They’d taken to visiting Dale every few weeks to sell their toys. Bofur rarely made much from the ventures, but the joy of the children was a balm to his soul. It was the same for Bifur, he knew, for both worried about where Balfur and Daphne might be and whether they were safe. Dusting his hands together, he hurried to his cousin’s side, eager to see the wee ones with their newest creations. 

An hour later, Bifur clucked at their mules, the wagon rattling down Dale’s cobbled streets. ‘twas good to see the city rebuilt, almost as gratifying as witnessing Erebor’s return to glory under Thorin’s rule. _Ah, lass, you’ll love to see this._ She’d no idea what affect she and Aleks had had upon them. Peace there was, even between elves and dwarves. 

As they pulled into their market square of choice, children cried out and ran for them. Bofur leaped from his seat with comedic surprise. He twisted at the waist to look behind him as if searching for the source of the children’s glee. Then he faced them and pointed at himself with exaggerated shock. 

In no time at all, he was seated on the ground, regaling the little ones with stories while Bifur demonstrated the puppet birds with brilliant plumage that had been their latest creations.

OoOoOo

My pony followed Balfur’s along the southern curve of Long Lake. The sky was blue, birds were chirping, and it was all I could do not to goad my sweet mare, Peony, into a gallop for Erebor.

We were early by more than half a year. A bird had located Balfur and me in our small cottage in Staddle, telling us our time of exile had ended, and that the Nazgûl had moved on. Radagast at work. I’d squealed when told we were packing up, bouncing around the cottage like Tigger after a bucket load of sugar. Balfur had found the entire thing too funny, chortling under his breath as I tore through the cottage, sorting items into piles of “must keep” and “give away”. I knew the trip would be long, but I didn’t care. The sooner we left, the sooner I’d be with Bofur. And this time, I told myself with fierce resolve, no more partings.

I began to hum, the early spring weather a perfect accompaniment to my sunny mood. Peony picked up upon my excitement and trotted until we drew even with Balfur and his pony, Mangy. 

Balfur clucked his tongue. “Aye, and Erebor will still be there tomorrow, lassie,” Balfur commented in Khuzdul. After I’d learned the rudiments of the language, he’d refused to utter anything but his native language except when conversing with the men and hobbits of Staddle. 

Staddle had been a good choice on his part, and while I’d missed Bofur, Aleks, Gwathadar, and so many others like mad, I’d also thrived in the peaceful setting. So close to Bree, the townsfolk were used to an influx of people from all corners. Two “dwarves” hadn’t raised anything more than mild curiosity, though the hobbits had thought me a bit addled to intentionally lighten my hair - with Sauron in the picture, I figured safe rather than sorry. My hair was now a strawberry blond thanks to constant hair rinses and herbal treatments. I’d discussed it with Balfur, and since the Stiffbeards were almost uniformly blond, we decided I should be one, too. Yes, my supposed Longbeard heritage would explain my natural hair color, but Sauron knew me with that hair. I wasn’t losing Bofur again, not because of _hair._ The brown locks had to go. 

_Where are you?_ As soon as I’d gotten word to return, my twin had packed it up, too, determined that we return at the same time, albeit with new, varying histories. We would have to act like strangers, something I wasn’t too sure we would pull off with any success. We were closer now. We may have been separated physically by the bulk of Middle Earth with me in Staddle and Aleks in Rohan, but our twin bond had been strong and sure. It’d been interesting, getting to know each other without orcs chasing us or arachne out to eat us. 

_I’m in Dale now,_ my twin told me. Hereward, he now called himself, a man of Rohan. He’d totally loved every minute with the Rohirrim and had quickly gained a reputation as a horse trainer. The idea had been Radagast’s, and it had been a stroke of genius. Aleks… Ugh. _Hereward_ was able to use his satyr gifts in a way that did not draw attention. 

Though, Hereward? He’d shared his reasoning, but to me, the name just didn’t fit. 

_There is nothing wrong with Hereward, Ábria,_ he informed me, using my own new name. Obviously, I hadn’t kept that thought private enough. 

When we’d agreed to remake ourselves, I don’t think either of us understood just how difficult it was to change _names._ We’d made a pact to only use the new names even during our telepathic communications, but… Yeah, it was hard. What would it be like to have Bofur call me Ábria the rest of our lives? Would it ever feel right coming from him?

_You got used to Hwinneth,_ Hereward chimed in with a flash of amusement. _Dale looks amazing,_ he told me. _Bard has outdone himself._

_Be careful of that man,_ I warned him. _He and Bain are really too perceptive at times._

Hereward dismissed my concern. _People see what they expect to see._

_Uh-huh. Don’t say I didn’t warn you._ Something told me Hereward was not going to be militant about our secret. 

_Jarel deserves the truth,_ he informed me. 

Bah, I wasn’t going to argue it. A part of me was in agreement. Jarel, Hydi, and Freija had hidden me when it had definitely not been in their best interests. If Hereward told them what was at stake, I trusted them to keep our return strictly silent. 

A spurt of dry amusement from my twin. _If this was Earth, I’d be wanting a LoJack for my horses right about now._

_Some horse-envy going on?_

He grinned. _One would think they’d never seen horses before._

I sniggered, and Balfur’s thick, iron-gray beard twitched in response. A surge of affection welled up within me. The dwarf had treated me as a long-lost niece from day one, and I loved him dearly. He’d taught me Khuzdul. He’d taught me dwarf dances and songs, braids and beers. He’d even whipped up a crude staff and taught me how to defend myself. 

Fighting with a staff? A lot harder than it looked. For weeks, I limped around with various bruises on my shins, arms, and forehead. My brother had found the whole thing hilarious, the goof.

_I doubt they’ve seen horses like those before,_ I told him. 

Pride filtered down the link. Yep, Rohan had been good for him. I knew for a fact he intended to assume a more nomadic life, trading between Erebor, Dale, and everyone else he could hit up for more business on the way to Rohan. He had gained the affection of one of King Thengel’s Thanes, a man by the name of Leofstan, and considered the West March his second home. 

I wasn’t wild about the idea of him being gone so much, but Hereward was as stubborn as the dwarves we both loved. And he really did like Thane Leofstan a great deal. If Thorin stood as adopted older brother or uncle, Leofstan he viewed the same way I did Gwathadar. 

_And where are you, Ábria?_

I eyed our surroundings. Slumped in my seat. _Too far away._

A pause as my brother finished stabling his small herd in a corral and headed back onto the streets of Dale, his step jaunty. _Don’t be too long,_ he told me. 

My gaze slid to Balfur. _Do my best. Even if we can’t travel on to Erebor today, we’ll be together in Dale._

We let the link go dormant, each turning to our own thoughts and concerns, and that was when my eyes bugged out. A line of elves in the Elvenking’s greens and golds emerged from behind a cove of trees, each mounted on one of Gwathadar’s beautiful horses. _They must have been in Dale._ I hurried to grab the hood of my travel cloak and pull it low upon my face the instant I recognized my foster father’s distinctive crown and silhouette at the head. 

Balfur reached over and patted my hand. He’d had the full of my tale from me early off, so he knew my affection for the Elvenking and his family. In this, he praised Thorin very highly, for by labeling me as one of the Stiffbeards, Thorin had made way for me to associate with the elves without a lot of shock. Of all the dwarf Houses, the Stiffbeards were the most sociable and peaceful, as well as being reputed to be the most clever merchants. By tacking me on to Huri’s line, my mix of traits was explained by either my supposed Longbeard or Stiffbeard heritage. 

Well, except my lack of any kind of beard. 

_It’ll be fine,_ I told myself. I knew the danger of being identified by Thranduil’s elves, but I yearned for some contact with him. My palms instantly went damp and clammy, and my eyes couldn’t seem to leave Gwathadar to save my life. Our current trajectory would take us right by them, and an idea percolated. 

I dipped my hand into my leather satchel, digging through seeds with desperate speed. This might be my one chance to tell him, to express… My fingers paused. Zinnia. Pouring out a couple seeds, I selected one and returned the others to their container. Then focusing on the seed, I willed it to grow, infusing it with a secondary message in case the first did not translate. Magenta zinnia: constant affection. 

The elves drew near, and I urged Peony forward, lifting my gift to Gwathadar without removing my hood. What he thought of the odd image, I’d probably never know, but I felt the weight of his regard pressing upon me. A dwarf offering him a zinnia, probably a first. 

“For peace,” I whispered, head lowered. 

Thranduil’s hand stretched out, and he touched the zinnia. Instantly, that golden aura brushed mine. I felt his surprise, his intense relief, and his love. I knew Thranduil felt how desperately I longed to throw my arms around him. 

_It’s not safe, Gwathadar._

He knew. Without being told, he knew the danger. _Penneth, you are well?_ A father’s concern, one I would never take for granted. 

_I am very well._ Tears filled my eyes.

_You head to Erebor?_

Assent. _Dale tonight, then on to Erebor._

Warmth. Affection. _I will suddenly develop an urgent need to confer with the King Under the Mountain. I have given your toymaker my blessing. Wait for my arrival before you take your vows, my Hwinneth. I should like to be there._

_You have my word._

The exchange was lightning-quick, and then the Elvenking accepted the zinnia and rode on, his elves passing us in orderly rows. 

Balfur’s big hand came around my shoulders, Mangy right up against Peony. “Alright?” he asked in Khuzdul.

I sniffled and smiled at him. “It was good to see him.” More than I’d imagined. Gwathadar would always carry a part of my heart. 

Balfur shook his head. “A dwarf with a fondness for elves,” he said in a mock mutter, eyes twinkling. “The mountain will never be the same.”

OoOoOo

Aleks, aka “Hereward”, sauntered down Dale’s cobbled streets, sword strapped to his waist and bow over one shoulder. It felt funny to be in a city again after so long among the Rohirrim. The people of Rohan were not primitive, though he suspected some back on Earth might label them as such, but they did not build such places as this. Their homes were simpler. Warmer. Here, the narrow cobbled streets seemed to close in upon him. The buildings felt too tall. He’d been in major cities with skyscrapers before, and here he was, claustrophobic and uneasy. _Sad, my man. Too sad._

He took a deep breath, enjoying the cooler air. Rohan was hotter this time of year, and he was appreciating the break. _How, Hunt, do you intend to reside in Erebor with your new need of open spaces?_ That, he hadn’t quite worked out. He’d have to see how things went and get Thorin’s input. His dream of living among the dwarves might not be possible, not with his taller stature and a Dark Lord lurking about. He’d have to maintain the illusion of being human, and that was that. 

That wouldn’t stop him from giving his gift to Thorin. Horses might not be prized possessions among dwarves, but these constituted the finest gift of tribute he had to offer. Rotating a kink out of his right shoulder, he turned a corner. 

And spotted Bofur and Bifur. 

Dude, he’d missed them. He moved out of the middle of the road towards one of the whitewashed buildings, a grin hiking up one side of his mouth. His beard had returned, but he’d maintained it in Rohirric style, unwilling to draw attention by standing out. It had occurred to him that he might never have his warrior braids from the dwarves, and that had troubled him more than it should have, he knew. Still, that loss was better than the alternative. Better than an early grave and way better than Sauron or Faerie. 

Bofur had kids all around him engrossed in his tale, so Aleks inched around until he gained Bifur’s side. “Keeping busy, I see.”

The elder toymaker froze, then lowered the amazingly life-like bird of wood into his hands. Aleks inclined his head, pretending to haggle. “Hereward of Rohan, at your service.”

Bifur’s eyes twinkled, and he surreptitiously scanned the crowd around them. 

“Not here yet,” Aleks murmured. _“Ábria_ should arrive with your sire by nightfall.”

Bifur clapped him on the shoulder and handed him the bird puppet.

OoOoOo

Bofur sat within the plush confines of his favored chair and eyed his cousin. He was up to something, he was. ‘twas never their habit to remain in Dale overnight, yet Bifur had tried to insist they lodge there, offering no explanation for the sudden change. Now, hours later, his cousin hovered near their front door as if waiting for something.

 _Aye, that’s it._ Waiting for someone or something. Bofur puffed on his pipe, eyeing his cousin. Bifur had disappeared with a man in foreign apparel earlier in the day. Now, Bofur had not gotten a good look at the man, but it had been shortly thereafter that the suggestion had been made. His cousin looked likely to burst, rubbing his hands together and gazing out the open door into the hall beyond that they shared with the Company, their families, and their king. 

Bofur pointed his pipe. “You might as well spill the keg,” he told him.

Bifur’s brow raised as he leaned against the doorjamb. 

“Aye, and none of that acting innocent. You could not pull it off when we were children…”

Bifur drawled, “…not that ye witnessed much of my childhood…”

Bofur ignored that. “…and you cannot fool me now. You are leaking excitement and secrets left and right.” He climbed to his feet, setting aside both pipe and the bit of wood he’d been working upon, and joined his cousin at the door. “What is it you seek, Bifur?”

OoOoOo

Dale was amazing. Signs of continuing construction could be seen everywhere, from the series of bell towers (a handful were yet embraced by scaffolding) to larger, stately affairs that could have been guildhalls, government buildings, or maybe mansions for what wealthy citizenry remained. Lanterns illuminated the streets in orderly increments, and while night had fallen hours before, a handful of people were out and about: guards, workers, and (I guessed here) midwives.

“Can we ride on?” I asked as Balfur, my gaze drifting to where the Lonely Mountain loomed on our left. _So close._

“Nay,” Balfur said, throwing me a grin with the shake of his gray head. “Been a long day, it has. The ponies need rest, I need rest, and though ye don’t feel it, you could use some sleep as well, Niece. ‘twill do us good to rest on real beds.”

“And mayhap enjoy a nice, stout beer?” I teased, letting it go with a pang. _Tomorrow,_ I promised myself. If I had to walk on foot, I’d see my toymaker tomorrow. 

“Aye! That’s the spirit.” 

We stopped at the first inn we spotted, one bearing Khuzdul glyphs right under the carved name in Common: The Ax & Hammer. Dismounting, we led the ponies around back to the stables and quickly bedded them down. I was brushing Peony when a quiet, “Boo,” sounded near my ear.

With an aborted squeak, I whipped around and grabbed Aleks tight. He returned the embrace, laughing when Balfur said in Common, “Now, I’m hoping for your sake, man, that yer who I think you are.”

Aleks offered the dwarf one hand. “Hereward of Rohan, at your service.”

Balfur waved off the hand and bowed. “Balfur of Erebor at yours.”

OoOoOo

Hereward waited for Balfur to zonk off after his fifth or sixth beer. That Ábria wouldn’t get a wink of sleep was obvious to him. It was like watching a kid on Christmas Eve, but where the kid would succumb eventually, he bet himself a new coat that she wouldn’t. She was going to meet Bofur with bags under her eyes at this rate.

Why did they leave? He was exasperated that Bifur had failed to keep the other toymaker in town. _Always have to make things more interesting, don’t you, Bofur?_

Ábria was strumming a stick dulcimer Balfur had made for her two years before. Sketching was out given the expense of parchment and her lost sticks of coal, so she’d taken up plucking out tunes in its place. Thankfully, he thought with an inner chuckle, his twin was better with the dulcimer than she’d been with her art supplies.

The dwarf’s head at last tipped back, and a snore burst from between his lips. _There we go._ Balfur was down for the count. “How about we take a field trip?” he whispered.

Ábria’s blond head lifted. A gleam of excitement lit her face, hampered by a hint of reserve. “We go off together, it’ll ruin our secret.”

He waved that away. “I can call one of my horses from outside the gates. You wear your hooded cloak…”

“…’cause that doesn’t look like a woman off for a clandestine meeting with a foreigner…” she said.

“…and we can leave separately. C’mon, you know you want to.”

OoOoOo

As Aleks or Hereward, my brother still managed to land me in trouble. I’d left a note for Balfur, donned my travel clothes, grabbed dulcimer and staff and headed out the door. The inn was silent, for by now it was nearing midnight. Giddy nerves had me snickering to myself as I hugged the shadows out of Dale.

Hereward met me away from the gate. He hoisted me up behind him on the bareback horse, and we were off. 

It was fantastic. The Rohirrim really knew how to breed horses, for this stallion fairly glided over the ground with the smoothest of gaits. “You know we’re going to get an earful for this,” I called to my twin over the thunder of hooves and moan of wind.

A face still strange to me appeared over one shoulder. A grin split his trimmed beard. “Probably.”

I snorted. He didn’t have to sound so cheerful about it, yet even as I thought that, my own impish humor resurged. At least this way, we were returning to our dwarves with a bang. 

We clattered up to Erebor’s gates about forty minutes later, the horse’s nostrils wide and sides heaving. Dwarves in armor met us, each sporting swords at their hips and spears in hands. The good news? The wicked spear tips were pointed skyward. 

“Here now, what’s this?” one said, elbowing his way to the front. With reddish hair and a big ax in one hand, he reminded me of Gloin. “Trouble in Dale?”

I supposed that was the logical conclusion. Aleks – _Hereward_ – slid down the horse like a pro and bowed. “Hereward of Rohan at your service. And no, no trouble.”

The dwarf in charge scratched his jowl. “What would be the hurry, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Impatience,” Hereward told them as he assisted me down. “This is Ábria from the East, kin to the Ri brothers.”

“I’d dearly love to see them,” I said in Khuzdul. 

The dwarves eyed me suspiciously, but then someone else strode up, and a slow grin claimed his bearded face. Gloin barked out commands, and in no time at all, I was being escorted to Bofur’s residence and Hereward was making his way to the king’s chambers.

OoOoOo

After having the breath crushed from me by Bifur, I was hauled inside, the door closed quietly behind us. As best he was able, he lowered his forehead to mine. “Cousin.”

 _Home._ Well, close to it. “It is good to see you again,” I told him, hoping my Khuzdul was up to snuff. 

He grinned, cupping my shoulders and drawing back. “Blond hair?”

“Stiffbeard,” I countered.

Bifur glanced again at the door behind me. “My sire?”

I shifted a bit guiltily. “Um, sleeping in Dale?”

His brows rose, then he guffawed. “Be hearing about that for years to come,” he warned. 

“Three years, three months, and eight days, Bifur,” I said, my hands twisting at my waist. “Is he not here?”

“Not here, but within Erebor,” he told me. Bifur grabbed his boar spear, a lantern and my hand, and tugged us from the room. 

“And we’re walking,” I commented.

OoOoOo

Aleks snorted, sputtering and almost dropping his mug of ale Thorin had given him.

Thorin lifted a brow.

“I think if Bifur doesn’t produce his cousin soon, your Stiffbeard is going to blow a fuse…er, lose her cool.”

Thorin pointed at him with the hand carrying his own mug. “You are early, _Hereward._ Explain.”

Aleks almost smiled. Thorin didn’t change. “Radagast sent word…” he began, settling into his chair to tell his king everything.

OoOoOo

Bifur opened a nondescript door silently, urging me inside. We followed a narrow passageway carved with images of trees and animals, Bifur pausing to lift the lantern in order to point out special features: chipmunks hiding in one acorn tree, a laurel in full bloom, and a stag partially concealed behind a pine.

_Oh my._

_What is it?_ Hereward immediately chimed in. 

I sent him a visual, my fingers tracing the carvings as I trailed after Bifur in a lot less of a hurry. I didn’t know about Hereward, but I read the tribute in these pictures. _I’m going to bawl,_ I complained, chin wobbling. 

_You’re a chick. It’s okay to cry._

_I don’t want to be reunited all weepy!_

Hereward tactfully refrained from saying what we both knew to be true – I’d probably cry at some point once I clapped eyes on Bofur. It was a fact I was learning about myself – I’d gone years bottling everything up. There had been some correcting of that with Gwathadar, but one did not just undo a decade of repression in a month. In the last years, I’d learned more of who I really was and grown comfortable in my own skin. And “who I was” was a bit of a crier. Happy story, sad story, touching scene or beautiful song, they could all wring a good tear from me. 

Who would’ve thought? Back before we’d arrived in Middle Earth the first time, I’d never have believed that about myself. What had Hereward once called me? Ice Princess? 

Bifur stopped at the end of the passage, waiting for me to join him. Stepping to his side, my eyes about bugged out. “Bifur,” I whispered.

The dwarf in question looked as pleased as punch, and I had no doubt he’d been a part of this. The humongous space loomed up and up overhead where what looked to be skylights allowed starlight in. And below? _They had to haul all this dirt in here,_ I thought as I tugged off my boots. My staff and dulcimer were thrust into Bifur’s hands as I walked forward, goggling at what I beheld. Someone – or _someone_ s – had gone to a lot of work. Stone trees served as columns reaching to the ceiling, their branches detailed down to small leaves that chimed with the air’s movement. In the low light, I couldn’t tell what color they might be, but their stature and detailing was amazing. 

My throat grew tighter and tighter, and I swiped a stray tear from my cheek. Stepping stones formed a path through the grassy area, and I could see the space branched off in different directions. I wandered, feet enjoying the soft loam and grass by turns. All around were young bursts of emerald green energies, plants in varying stages of maturity. Edibles, ornamentals, flowers – even (my chin wobbled) the primrose I’d enjoyed so much in Rivendell. _Bombur._

The sound of shoveling reached me, and I followed it. Finally, I found the younger of Erebor’s toymakers. He worked with only a loose linen tunic upon his torso, wielding a shovel with determination. His back was to me, giving me a good look at sweat-drenched material. 

Okay, now I _was_ going to cry. He’d done all this… I dashed a couple more escapee tears away, so full of emotion I couldn’t take those last few steps forward. I watched him, wondering what to say. Should I just announce my presence? Rush over and throw my arms around him? 

_You better come up with something, because you don’t want to still be standing here when Balfur shows up,_ an inner voice provided. 

It had a point. 

I cast about for inspiration, my eyes alighting on this tree that looked out of place. It was small, no more than three feet tall. A spruce. Like most of the plants here, it murmured drowsily, content with its world. 

Dwarves. Planting. The elves, I would expect this from, but these Longbeards? 

Tiptoeing closer, I stood on the balls of my feet to give me leverage to see over his shoulder. Then leaning close, I said, “You should move the tree to the left.”

“Aye, and you’ve been talking to my brother, lassie, for…” The moment it hit him, the shovel dropped from his hands. He whipped around and grabbed me, clutching me tight against his dripping body. I didn’t much care how sweaty he was. I finally felt like I’d arrived home. 

Lips pressed to mine, delivering a hard kiss that was slow to end. Hands bunched in my hair, framing the back of my skull. Then a second kiss and a third, each more tender than the last. His forehead rested against mine, his beloved houseleek eyes inches away, holding mine steadily. “You’re here.”

My smile was probably as dopey as all get-out. “I’m here.”

“You’re early, my Daphne.”

I lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “Aye,” I said, switching to Khuzdul. “Radagast sent word to us in Staddle. The Nazgûl moved on.” In a candid voice, “I should probably be worried about that, wondering what they’re doing, but I just don’t care.”

“’twas too long,” he said, his forehead not lifting from mine. 

This time I was the one to seal our lips, trying to convey just how very much I agreed with his statement. When it ended, he hugged me tight, and my head found its home in the crook of his neck. “You reek, my lad.”

His chest vibrated with laughter. “Aye, but then, I was not expecting a lassie to hunt me down to take liberties with my person in the dead of night.”

“Liberties, huh?”

I didn’t need to see his grin to know it was there. “Aye, but you’ll not succeed. I’m of a mind to use whatever means, fair or foul, to ensure this time tomorrow, I have you to wife, lass.”

“Fair or foul?” How I loved this dwarf.

“Aye,” he assured. “There will be no more kissing until I’ve seen it done.”

Oh. Well, that was foul. I pinched him, snuggling up and at last letting my eyelids droop in contentment. 

“Aleks is here?” he murmured in my ear. 

“With Thorin,” I told him. “He’s horse-mad now, I’m warning you.”

A snort. “That would be our Aleks.”

“Hereward,” I warned him drawing back. I took a deep breath. “Even if the Nazgûl are gone, I don’t think we can take chances.”

He tugged upon that lock of hair, one finger twining around it. A thoughtful frown crossed his lips. “’twill not be easy to call you aught else.”

“Ábria,” I answered in response to the unspoken question. “We agreed it wouldn’t be a good idea to adopt names in any way associated with our former lives.”

His head tilted to the side as he looked down at me. “I can see the sense. Is this why your hair is blond?” 

Was everyone going to comment? “I promise, my intellect didn’t drop with the hair change, regardless of all the jokes.”

His brows shot up, and I began to regret that quip. I was going to have to explain… “I’m waiting to hear how hair color would change your intellect, for I’m surely not following you, my lass.”

_Bother._ I rubbed my nose. Conceded. “Back on Earth, we have what are called ‘blonde jokes’. Ask Al…” _Sigh._ “Hereward.”

A bit of a smirk. “I’ll be doing that.” 

I kind of figured. 

“Now then,” he said, lifting my wrist. From a pouch affixed to his leather belt, he withdrew…

_“Bofur,”_ I breathed, heart clenching to see my bracelet again. And yes, I leaked like a faucet as he returned it to where it belonged. 

“Bilbo found it,” was his only comment. 

Bofur then led me to a stone bench that circled the base of one of the many tree-pillars. He must have decided to act upon his previous threat to get me to the alter that very day, for without word, he positioned me between his legs and began separating hanks of hair near my right temple. I got soppy. Again. There was something infinitely significant to the event. 

The symbolism hit home, symbolism I now understood after Balfur’s tutelage. Courtship braids were unique, yet they followed a basic pattern. First came a pattern designating the family line into which one was marrying. The base of the intricate design originated well before Khazad-dum’s founding, a tradition passed down for thousands of years. Each generation added a slight variation to it, further specifying lineage. Mine would mirror Bofur and Bombur’s mother, Magga’s, with one and only one added loop. 

That part of the design carried the braid to my ear, where he next placed the first bead, one that typically commemorated some event between the pair. That Bofur had beads of amber prepared and carried them in his pockets touched me to no end. It didn’t surprise me, knowing him as I did, but it still moved me. The dwarf always showed others in big ways and small that he cared. 

And I – I was the most fortunate soul of all. All that generosity and cheer, all that optimism and fun, it was mine. 

He held out that first bead for me upon a flat palm. I had to laugh, for he’d crafted a bead showing two hands clasped. I knew instantly what it referenced. “Good luck will rub off,” I said.

“When I shake hands with you,” he finished. He kissed my nose and added it to the braid before progressing to the second section, that signifying affiliation. It would be Thorin’s symbol, or that of his line, rather. After that would come the pattern mimicking Aldís and Huri’s marriage braids…or so the idea went. Given that none of us had seen them, I was hoping Bofur had concocted something with the Ri brothers’ guidance. 

Sniffling, I memorized every expression that crossed Bofur’s face as he worked, determined to immortalize it in my heart. 

“Children, lass,” he said as he continued. “I’m wanting children.”

I could picture them – a half dozen lively boys and girls, each with houseleek eyes and their father’s teasing ways.

OoOoOo

Hereward stifled a yawn, content to sit where he was with elbow on armrest and chin propped up on his fist. It had been a good night, chatting with his king. They’d spoken of so much, from his plans to open trade between Erebor and Rohan – mayhap Gondor, too – as an avenue to forging stronger ties across Middle Earth in preparation for Sauron’s next move. They spoke of how things were progressing with Erebor’s restoration, and the dwarves’ relations with the men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood.

With the rising of the sun, many of the Company trooped into Thorin’s study, the majority feigning ignorance as to whom the “strange Rohirrim” might be. Kíli, Dwalin, and Balin, however, blinked in confusion. 

Fíli clapped his brother on the back. “I suppose it is safe now to tell them?” he asked, his question split between Thorin and Hereward.

Thorin signaled for Balin to close the study door and latch it before answering. “The Nazgûl have moved on,” he told them. 

“The ones Mistress Hunt warned us about?” Kíli burst, face full of excitement. 

“Aye,” the Ri brothers answered. 

“Did you not think the sudden sense of fear that roamed our Halls for the last few years unusual?” Thorin said with a glimmer of a grin.

Kíli pointed at his uncle. “I _knew_ something was amiss. Wait, you knew of this? All this time, I tried to convince you to investigate the matter, you knew?”

“We all did, laddie,” Gloin said. Then he corrected, “Most of us.”

“Some of us were sent by the wizard to rescue our naiads from Faerie,” Thorin said in a quiet voice, his attention homing in on the dwarves who had not participated. Hereward watched and listened, realizing with maturity how much more he had to learn from Thorin in the way he conducted himself. “You, Kíli, were left out of plans because of your standing. Had aught happened to me – had we failed and not returned – you would stand as heir right now to Fíli.” 

Thorin then turned to Dwalin and Balin. “And Fíli would need the two of you as counselors.”

The two responded with nods. 

Hereward sat back in his seat, drinking in the sensation of being home that gathered around him with these dwarves. He’d return to Rohan frequently, no doubt about it, but Erebor was where he’d raise his family one day. _Or Dale,_ he corrected himself. 

Thorin and the Ri brothers had almost finished telling the entirety of the tale to the three dwarves who had not been present – and the heir who had not heard the complete story – when a knock on the door proved to be Bilbo. Thorin urged their hobbit inside and latched the door once more.

Bilbo stared at Hereward with wide eyes. “Master A-- No, I’m sorry.” He drew himself up. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

Hereward stood. “Hereward of Rohan at yours.” Then he grinned. “Relax, Bilbo, they’re gone. Radagast sent word. The Nazgûl have departed from here and Mirkwood.”

Bilbo rubbed a hand across his head. “Truly?”

Hereward displayed open palms. “So he said.”

Bilbo cleared his throat and straightened his vest. “Well, then. I have some unsettling news for all of you.”

Hereward noticed Thorin’s brows wing upwards. “All of us?” the king asked. 

Bilbo nodded. “I dared not say anything sooner for fear of being overheard.”

“A wise precaution,” Thorin said.

Hereward reclaimed his seat as the hobbit fidgeted. “Bilbo? Buddy, whatever it is, we’ll deal, alright? We’ve gotten through this much. How bad could it be?”

Bilbo stood tall, rocking upon his heels. “Well, then.” A big breath. “I’ve quite lost the One Ring.”

OoOoOo

**  
_Elsewhere_  
**

Euryale slithered through the trees, crooning to herself in sibilant tones, when a glint of gold caught her eye. Reaching down, the gorgon fingered the object, delighted to discover jewelry. She donned the ring, cooing to herself at how very attractive and… _precious_ …it looked there upon her finger. 

She stroked it once. Yes, very precious.


End file.
